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THE  GOLD  BRICK. 


BY 


MRS.   AM   S.   STEPHENS. 

AUTHOR  OF  "FASHION   AND  FAMINE,"  "MARY   DERWENT,"  "THE  OLD 

HOMESTEAD,"     "THE    REJECTED    WIFE,"    "THE    HEIRESS," 

"TUB  WIFE'S  SECRET,"  "SILENT  STRUGGLES,"  ETC. 


His  was  the  deepest  sorrow,  for  it  grew 

Oat  from  his  crime,  a  night-shade  of  the  soul. 
There,  fed  on  poison — bathed  with  bitter  dew, 

She  found  the  evil  thing.     Her  sweet  control 
Unearthed  thd  root,  and  softly  planted  there 

A  tiny  germ,  all  white  and  pure  as  snow, 
And  then  with  tears,  and  smiles,  and  silent  prayer. 

Through  grief  and  darkness,  watched  the  lone  plant  ffrow 
A  stately  tree,  rooted  so  deep  in  Love, 
That  its  best  fruitage  must  be  found  above. 


T.  B.  PETERSON  AND  BROTHERS; 
306    CHESTNUT     STREET. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 
MRS.  ANN  S.  STEPHENS, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United    States,  in  and  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


TO 
MY     DEAR    FRIEND, 

MRS,    BENJAMIN    F,    LOAN 

OP     ST.    JOSEPH,    MISSOURI, 
THIS    VOLUME 

IS  AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED. 

ANN  S.  STEPHENS. 
NEW  YORK,  March,  1866. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I.  PAflB 

THE    MASSACRE * 27 

CHAPTER   II. 

THE  JEWEL  BOX..... 33 

CHAPTER   III. 

THE   BURIAL 39 

CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   FAITHFUL    SLAVE 46 

CHAPTER   V. 

THE   SEARCH    FOR   GOLD , 54 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   FLOGGING 61 

CHAPTER  VII. 

A   REBELLIOUS   SPIRIT 67 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE   BOX   OF  JEWELS 76 

CHAPTER  IX. 

CHAINED   IN    THE    HOLD 81 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE   HOUSE  IN   THE    PINE   WOODS 92 

CHAPTER  XL 

KATHARINE  ALLEN'S  VISIT  TO  THE  WHITE  COTTAGE 97 

(21) 


22  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XII. 

HOME  FROM    SEA 104 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   WAY-SIDE    MEETING 110 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

THE  OLD  HOME  AND  THE  OLD    PEOPLE. 116 

CHAPTER  XV. 

BREAKFAST  IN   THE   OLD    HOMESTEAD 125 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

A  PAINFUL   INTERVIEW 135 

CHAPTER   XVJI. 

JEALOUS   PANGS   REGARDING    MRS.  MASON 139 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
MRS.  MASON'S  RICH  UNCLE  IN  THE  SOUTH 144 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

MRS.  MASON   LEAVES   THE    PINE   WOODS 152 

CHAPTER   XX. 

ANOTHER    SEPARATION 160 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE   MINISTER  AT  BAYS  HOLLOW   GETS  A   WIFE 164 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  MINISTER'S  WIFE  TAKES  PUPILS 171 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  VILLAGE  DOCTOR  IN  A  SNOW-STORM 175 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   GRANDMOTHER  RELENTING 183 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  GRAVE  IN   THE    SNOW .    190 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXVI.  PAG* 

A  CROWD   UNDER  THE   BUTTERNUT   TREE 195 

CHAPTER  XXYII. 

THE   SAILOR  AND   HIS   TWO   COMPANIONS 201 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

OUT  OP   HER    DELIRIUM 207 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

STRANGERS    IN    THE   VILLAGE 214 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE   WELCOME   LETTER 223 

CHAPTER    XXXI. 

THE  RED   SCHOOL-HOUSE   AT   SHRUB   OAK 232 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  TERRIBLE   DISCLOSURE 239 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE  OLD  COUPLE  ON  THEIR  SHADOWED    HEARTH-STONE..    244 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE   SNOW   FRESHET 248 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

ALL  SORTS   OF   TREASON 254 

CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

MRS.  MASON  AT    HER    STUDIES 265 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

SETTLING  THE   WEDDING   DAY 2T2 

CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

A  DOUBLE    GUARD 280 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

OUT  IN  THE    DEPTHS   OF   THE   NIGHT 284 


24  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XL. 

TAKEN   IN   FROM    THE   COLD 293 

CHAPTER  XLL 

THE   MARRIAGE    CERTIFICATE. 298 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

ON  THE  FIRST   STAGE   TO   PRISON 307 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 

FRIENDS  IN  COUNCIL. 313 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE   SEPARATION 319 

CHAPTER   XLV. 

PAUL  FINDS  A   NEW   HOME 326 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 

JUBE  FINDS  HIS  WAY  TO  BATS  HOLLOW 331 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 

A  CHILDISH   CONSULTATION 336 

CHAPTER  XLYIII. 

PAUL  SEES   HIS   MOTHER'S   NECKLACE 341 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

A  PALACE   READY   FOR    ITS   MISTRESS 348 

CHAPTER  L. 

COMING   HOME   OF  THE    BRIDE , 351 

CHAPTER  LI. 

THE   DAY   BEFORE  TRIAL 355 

CHAPTER   LIT. 

THE  STREETS  AND  THE  COURT  HOUSE 362 

CHAPTER  LIII. 
THE  DOCTOR'S  EVIDENCE 361 


CONTENTS.  25 

CHAPTER   LIV.  **« 

THE   VERDICT 3t2 

+• 

CHAPTER   LY. 

THE   TEAIL   OP   THE    SERPENT 3T6 

CHAPTER   LVI. 

LOVE'S  GOLDEN  HARVEST 382 

CHAPTER  LVIL 

ONE  HOUR  OP  SHAME.. -. 386 

CHAPTER  LVIII. 

THE   MOTHER  AND   SON 390 

CHAPTER  LIX. 

THE   EMPTY   HOUSE 397 

CHAPTER  LX. 

TOM   HUTCHINS'  LETTER 400 

CHAPTER  LXI. 

UNSATISFIED   VANITY 404 

CHAPTER  LXIL 

ARTFUL   FASCINATIONS 409 

CHAPTER  LXIII. 

GATHERING    APPLES 41f 

CHAPTER  LXIV. 

MARRIED   AGAIN 423 

CHAPTER  LXV. 

THE    FANCY   BALL 421 

CHAPTER  LXVI. 

STRANGE   GUESTS 431 

CHAPTER   LXVII. 

TOGETHER,  YET  SEPARATED 439 


26 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  LXVIII.  PAOB 

THE  TREASURE  VAULT 445 

CHAPTER   LXIX. 

BIMSBURY  MINES 448 

CHAPTER   LXX. 

THE    PRISON  ANGEL 455 

CHAPTER    LXXL 

THE  SWEATING  OVEN 460 

CHAPTER   LXXII. 

UNDER   THE  APPLE    TREE 468 

CHAPTER  LXXIII. 

OUT  OP  A  SCRAPE 474 

CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

THE    LONELY   HOUSE 481 

CHAPTER  LXXY. 
THE  MANIAC'S  TOILET 486 

CHAPTER  LXXVI. 
THE  DOCTOR'S  RIDE 491 

CHAPTER  LXXYII. 
THE  CONVICT'S  RETURN 498 

CHAPTER   LXiVIII. 

TOM   HUTCHINS'   QUARREL «...    50o 

CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

THE   WEDDING   AND   THE   BAPTISM .....    508 


THE   GOLD   BRICK. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  MASSACRE. 

A  LOW  coast,  burdened  in  every  foot  of  its  soil  with 
the  luxuriant  growth  of  a  tropical  climate  ;  a  large  town, 
straggling  and  flat,  swarming  like  a  hive  of  bees  with 
turbulent  life.  Lights  flickering  wildly  from  the  win- 
dows and  dancing  with  a  fantastic  and  red  glare  up  and 
down  the  streets.  A  dull,  hollow  sound  rolling  con- 
stantly out  upon  the  stillness  of  the  waters,  broken  now 
and  then  with  sharp  shrieks  as  lightning  cleaves  the 
thunder  gust. 

This  was  the  scene  commanded  from  the  deck  of  a 
New  England  brig,  lying  in  the  harbor  of  Port  au  Prince, 
on  one  of  those  terrible  nights  in  the  end  of  the  last 
century,  when  the  horrible  passions  that  had  rioted 
through  France,  like  wild  beasts  ravening  for  blood,  fled 
across  seas  and  fired  themselves  anew  in  the  hot  life  of 
the  tropics. 

The  contrast  between  the  stillness  of  the  harbor,  where 
the  starlight  fell  smilingly,  and  the  waters  rippled  like 
kisses  around  the  vessels,  and  that  demon  riot  on  the 
shore,  was  awful.  To  lie  so  near,  with  death  shrieks 

(27) 


28  THE     MASSACRE. 

cutting  the  air  every  instant,  with  murderous  yells 
chasing  them,  like  fiends,  was  enough  to  drive  men  mad. 
The  iron-hearted  New  England  sailors  on  that  deck,  grew 
restive  as  caged  lions,  while  the  tumult  swelled  louder 
and  louder  around  them.  The  young  captain  turned 
white  as  he  took  short  marches  up  and  down  the  deck. 
The  men  drew  close  together,  eyeing  each  other  with 
fierce  glances.  A  word  from  the  captain  would  hare 
sent  them  headlong  into  the  massacre,  in  a  wild  effort 
to  save  the  women  and  children,  whose  shrieks,  even 
from  the  distance,  drove  them  frantic. 

But  what  could  they  do  ? — a  handful  of  men  against 
thousands  on  thousands  of  brutalized  blacks,  swarming 
in  that  doomed  city.  It  was  terrible  to  remain,  but  mad- 
ness to  go.  The  captain  ground  his  teeth  and  clenched 
his  hands  in  the  agony  of  this  restraint.  Every  cry 
that  reached  the  ship  pierced  him  like  a  sword ;  every 
fresh  gleam  of  light  quivering  across  the  waters  seemed 
to  lure  him  to  the  rescue. 

"Oh,  my  God!  my  God!  I  cannot  bear  this!"  he 
cried,  as  a  group  of  wooden  buildings  near  the  shore 
burst  into  a  volume  of  fire,  and  one  appalling  shriek  told 
that  scores  on  scores  of  human  beings  were  engulphed 
in  the  flames  that  danced  and  leaped  and  shed  floods  of 
fiery  gold  far  out  on  the  harbor.  "  Neither  my  owners 
nor  my  Maker  could  wish  me  to  stand  still  now." 

Going  up  to  the  group  of  sailors,  he  called  out,  "All 
hands  to  work,  my  boys  I  lower  the  boats.  Such  of  you 
as  want  to  help  the  poor  wretches  they  are  murdering 
yonder,  come  with  me." 

"Aye,  aye,"  broke  in  a  smothered  shout  from  the 
sailors,  and  each  man  sprang  to  his  duty — from  cabin 
boy  to  mate,  not  a  soul  lagged  behind.  Yes,  one  man, 


THEMASSACBE.  29 

the  first  mate,  he  neither  repeated  his  superior's  orders, 
or  moved  toward  the  boats,  but  stood  near  the  captain, 
looking  quietly  unconcerned,  with  a  half  smile  on  his 
lip. 

"  You  will  not  go,  Thrasher,"  said  the  captain.  "  I  am 
glad  of  it ;  some  one  must  take  charge  of  the  ship.  Stay 
on  board,  and  be  ready  to  lend  a  hand — we  may  bring 
back  some  of  those  poor  creatures." 

"  And  if  your  men  are  killed,  who  will  work  the  ship, 
Captain  Mason  ?  Remember  the  craft  belongs  neither  to 
you  nor  me." 

"  They  shall  not  be  killed,  Thrasher,  these  brutes  have 
plenty  to  do  without  minding  us ;  besides,  I'll  keep  off 
shore,  and  only  lie  to,  ready  to  haul  any  poor  creature 
in  that  takes  to  the  water.  They  are  sure  to  try,  if  they 
think  of  the  ship." 

"  Well,  well,  captain,  you  command  here,  and  know 
your  own  business  best,"  answered  Thrasher,  with  that 
same  smile  creeping  across  his  lips ;  "  for  my  part,  I 
stand  by  the  ship." 

"  That's  right ;  I  won't  risk  the  men — never  fear ! 
As  for  the  brig,  what  can  harm  her  ?" 

"Nothing,  while  I'm  aboard,"  answered  the  mate, 
turning  suddenly  townward,  where  another  broad  sheet 
of  smoky  flame  blazed  forth.  "  There,"  he  cried,  almost 
with  a  shout,  "  there  goes  another  bonfire.  The  whole 
town  will  be  roaring  hot  at  this  rate.  Ha,  look  at  that 
flock  of  women  rushing  out  of  the  smoke  like  rats — hot 
work  that — how  plainly  you  can  see  'em  with  their  hair  in 
the  wind,  turning  and  rushing  hither  and  yon,  between 
fire  and  water  I  Ho,  ho,  the  black  rascals  are  after  'em 
— Lord,  how  they  rim  ! — how  they  fling  up  their  arms 
toward  the  ship — scatter  on  the  beach — take  to  the 


30  THEMASSACBE. 

water — they're  on  'em — the  nigger  hounds  are  on  'em 
tooth  and  nail.  What  an  infernal  yell !" 

Even  that  hard  man  turned  away  and  covered  his 
face  with  both  hands  ;  when  he  looked  again  it  was  with 
wild,  heavy  eyes. 

"  Heavens  and  earth,"  he  muttered,  "  how  still  it  is  in 
spite  of  the  roaring  pit  behind.  The  brutes  have  done 
their  work,  and  gone  into  the  smoke  again.  How  softly 
the  waves  lick  up  the  dead  bodies  from  the  sand  and 
sweep  'em  under.  But  they'll  come  to  daylight  again ; 
perhaps  here  under  our  bows,  a  hundred  women — who 
knows  how  many — with  long  hair,  weltering  up  and 
down  like  sea-weed  after  a  storm.  Faugh !  the  dread 
of  it  makes  one  childish.  I  wonder  if  they  are  all  gone. 
What,  ho !" 

Two  persons,  the  cook  and  cabin-boy,  had  been  left 
behind  by  the  boats,  much  against  their  will.  They, 
also,  had  witnessed  the  fearful  scene  on  the  beach,  and 
shuddering  with  terror,  crouched  together  behind  some 
barrels  that  stood  upon  the  deck.  One  of  them  tried  to 
answer  Thrasher's  shout,  but  his  voice  broke  in  a  hoarse 
whisper,  and  he  really  had  neither  the  strength  nor 
courage  to  move. 

By  this  time  the  captain's  boat  was  nearing  the  shore 
rapidly.  If  the  scene  of  revolt  had  been  terrible  from 
the  distance,  it  was  crowded  with  horrors  now.  The 
fierce,  hot  breath  of  the  fire  came  surging  toward  the 
coast  like  a  sirocco.  The  roar  of  that  infernal  massacre, 
the  pleadings  and  shrieks,  the  moans  and  shouts,  horri- 
bly mingling  and  rising  above  each  other,  oppressed  the 
very  air.  Out  of  the  reeking  melee  of  the  town  human 
beings  darted  like  scared  birds,  and  hid  among  the  chap- 
arral or  rushed  madly  toward  the  beach. 


THE     MASSACRE. 


31 


The  captain  was  brave  and  humane,  but  he  was  honest 
too,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  this  gave  a  thought  to  the 
obligations  he  owed  to  his  command.  He  would  go 
close  to  the  shore,  ready  to  save  those  who  fled  to  the 
water  for  death  or  refuge.  If  it  proved  possible  for  the 
nature  within  him  to  resist  the  temptation  to  offer  more, 
he  would  resist ;  if  not,  he  was  but  human,  and  life  was 
a  precious  thing  to  every  breathing  being  ;  God  would 
forgive  him  for  saving  it,  though  his  owners  might  not. 

As  he  neared  the  shore,  that  portion  of  the  town 
which  lay  close  to  the  water  was  in  a  bright  blaze ;  the 
boat,  the  wharves,  and  the  foam-fringed  waves  reddened 
and  glowed  under  the  hot  smiles  of  the  fire.  Deep  into 
the  lurid  caves  made  by  the  whirl  of  glowing  smoke  men 
and  women  struggled  madly,  and  tore  at  each  other  like 
wild  beasts,  smothering  their  yells  beneath  the  tumultu- 
ous elements. 

From  this  lurid  torrent  the  people  scattered,  both 
pursuers  and  pursued,  out  upon  the  open  country.  The 
poor  wretches  who  were  to  die  sought  the  darkest  spots, 
hiding  behind  clumps  of  aloes  and  cactus  hedges,  or 
creeping  under  torn  masses  of  wild  vines,  panting  with 
terror  and  dread,  and  striving  to  hold  the  very  breath 
that  threatened  to  betray  them. 

Secure  of  their  victims  in  the  end,  the  triumphant 
hordes  of  negroes  came  huddling  forth  like  demons, 
hooting,  dancing,  and  rioting  in  the  brazen  light  their 
own  fiends'  work  had  kindled.  A  group  of  palm  trees 
stood  close  to  the  shore  a  little  distance  from  the  town, 
and  to  that  point  the  insurgents  swarmed  in  hundreds, 
dragging  the  pale  beings  whose  death  was  to  be  their 
sport,  brutally  after  them.  When  they  reached  the 
palm  trees  there  was  a  rush  from  the  crowd,  and  a  score 


32  THE     MASSACRE. 

of  dark  objects  leaped  upon  the  slender  stems,  strug 
gling  upward,  hustling  over  each  other,  the  lowermost 
seizing  his  neighbor  by  the  bare,  glistening  shoulders 
and  hurling  him  down  to  the  crowd  amid  wild  shouts 
and  stormy  oaths. 

At  last  the  palms  swayed  and  bent  almost  double 
under  the  burden  of  fiends,  who  dropped  off  by  dozens 
into  the  yelling  crowd.  The  beautiful  trees,  relieved  of 
their  weight,  swayed  back  and  penciled  themselves 
against  the  flaming  sky,  not  green  and  free  as  they  had 
appeared  a  moment  before ;  but  with  the  bark  torn  from 
their  delicate  trunks,  and  the  symmetrical  foliage  broken 
and  ragged.  From  the  point  of  each  leaf  flaunted  a 
gorgeous  scarf  or  tawdry  ribbon — red,  orange,  purple, 
and  flame  colored — which  fluttered  wildly  in  the  hot 
draughts  of  wind  that  swept  over  them  from  the  burning 
town. 

Out  from  the  crowd,  like  sharks  leaping  in  the  black 
waves  of  a  tempest,  the  negro  women  sprang  upward, 
seizing  the  ribbons,  tearing  them  away  from  the  leaves, 
or  bending  down  the  stately  trees  until  they  took  uncouth 
forms,  and  seemed  tortured  like  the  group  of  women  and 
children  whose  death  cries  rang  out  from  the  midst  of 
the  fiendish  dance.  The  mingled  mirth  and  horror  grew 
more  and  more  maddening,  till  the  sand  all  around  re- 
fused to  soak  in  the  blood  they  had  shed,  and  the  naked 
feet  of  the  dancers  plashed  to  their  own  barbarous  war 
cry,  or  stumbled  over  the  dead  bodies  of  the  slain ;  for 
with  every  turn  of  the  dance,  an  axe  had  fallen,  and  a 
soul  gone  shrieking  up  to  its  Maker. 

Captain  Mason  saw  all  this  from  his  boat,  while  it  was 
far  out  in  the  harbor ;  with  a  cry  of  horror  he  seized  the 
oars  and  worked  them  till  they  bent  like  saplings  under 


THE     JEWEL     BOX.  83 

his  iron  handling.  But  human  strength  was  not  equal 
to  human  cruelty.  While  he  was  yet  some  fathoms  from 
the  shore,  the  demons  under  the  palm  trees,  scattered 
back  to  the  town  in  search  of  fresh  victims,  leaving  the 
dead  and  the  dying  to  their  agonies,  with  those  mocking 
ribbons  waving  fantastically  in  the  wind,  as  if  a  May 
dance  had  just  passed  beneath  them. 

Panting  and  breathless,  their  hearts  burning  with  in- 
dignation, the  captain  and  his  men  rested  on  their  oars ; 
their  work  of  mercy  cut  short,  for  alas !  rage  is  quicker 
than  charity.  They  could  see  the  pale,  dead  faces  of  the 
white  women  and  children  that  had  been  murdered  under 
the  palm  trees,  with  terrible  distinctness.  Their  rich 
garments  and  delicate  features,  bespoke  them  of  the 
higher  classes,  but  there  they  lay,  like  soldiers  heaped 
on  a  battle-field,  with  nothing  but  the  stars  of  heaven  to 
pity  them — the  pure  stars  that  seemed  affrighted  by  the 
tumult,  and  grew  pallid  in  the  smoke. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    JEWEL   BOX. 

As  the  captain  sat  with  his  face  toward  the  palm  trees, 
he  saw  a  woman  rise  up  from  among  the  dead,  and  turn 
first  toward  the  town,  then  seaward,  in  a  wild  despairing 
search  for  help. 

The  captain  stood  up  in  his  boat  and  shouted  aloud, 
while  all  hands  pulled  for  the  shore. 

She  heard  him,  reeled  back  against  the  stem  of  the 
2 


34  THE     JEWEL     BOX. 

nearest  palm  tree,  and  clung  to  it,  waving  her  hand  to- 
ward the  boat.  But  as  they  looked,  a  young  boy  was 
standing  at  her  side,  grasping  her  garments  with  his  hand, 
while  his  face  was  turned  toward  the  boat.  He  seemed 
urging  her  to  flee.  Twice  her  arm  was  unwound  from 
the  palm,  and  a  step  tried,  but  she  fell  back  again,  as  if 
severely  hurt  or  frightened  out  of  her  strength.  The  boy 
still  pleaded.  They  could  see  it  in  his  gestures,  in  the 
eager  hand  that  motioned  toward  the  shore,  which  the 
boat  almost  touched. 

He  pointed  this  out ;  he  pulled  frantically  at  her  gar- 
ments ;  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  lifting  his  clasped  hands 
toward  her  imploringly. 

Something  gave  her  desperate  strength.  She  left  the 
palm,  staggered,  and  sprang  forward,  more  than  keeping 
pace  with  the  boy,  who,  clinging  to  her  hand,  rushed  on 
with  his  great,  wild  eyes,  uplifted  to  her  face. 

The  captain  sprang  on  shore,  and  met  them  on  the 
verge  of  the  surf.  The  woman  reeled  toward  him 
blindly,  with  both  hands  outstretched,  and  fell  into  his 
arms  headlong,  as  she  must  have  fallen  on  the  sand  but 
for  his  presence. 

He  gathered  her  to  his  broad  bosom,  and  wading 
through  the  surf,  waist  deep,  laid  her  in  the  boat,  upon 
&  pile  of  jackets  that  his  men  hurriedly  took  off  their 
persons,  and  cast  at  his  feet. 

She  was  coldly  pale,  and  did  not  seem  to  breathe. 
But  the  captain  had  no  time  to  remark  this  or  any  thing 
else.  A  group  of  negroes  who  had  been  pursuing  their 
death  work  among  the  cactus  hedges,  saw  the  boy  and 
turned  upon  him. 

The  lad  saw  them,  and  with  a  desperate  bound,  leaped 
into  the  surf — struggled,  lost  his  foothold,  and  was  in 


THEJEWELBOX.  35 

the  very  sweep  of  the  undertow,  when  the  captain 
snatched  him  away.  The  savages  hurled  their  sharp 
missiles  after  him,  which  the  water  swallowed  instantly. 
So,  as  they  were  without  firearms,  the  boy  was  saved, 
while  his  pursuers  raged  and  hooted  on  the  shore. 

When  the  boy  saw  his  mother  lying  so  pale  and  still 
in  the  boat,  he  struggled  from  the  captain's  arms,  and 
kneeling  by  her  side,  pressed  the  beautiful  face — for  it 
was  beautiful — between  his  little  trembling  hands,  while 
in  the  purest  and  most  pathetic  French  he  besought  her 
to  look  up.  He  told  her  that  they  were  safe  now — away 
on  the  sea,  where  nothing  could  hurt  them.  He  en- 
treated her  to  wake  up,  only  for  one  minute,  just  long 
enough  to  kiss  him,  and  then  she  might  go  to  sleep 
again  for  ever  so  long. 

The  touching  anguish  in  the  boy's  voice  would  have 
called  any  mother  back  to  life.  She  opened  her  eyes ;  a 
look  of  divine  tenderness  came  softly  to  her  face,  and 
died  in  a  smile  upon  her  lips,  as  the  boy  bent  down  with 
a  gush  of  tearful  gladness  and  kissed  her. 

"  There,"  he  said,  touching  her  raven  hair  with  infi- 
nite tenderness,  "  go  to  sleep  now.  Paul  will  sit  by  and 
watch." 

She  seemed  to  understand  him,  for  a  serene  smile 
beamed  on  her  face,  and  softly  as  white  rose-leaves  fall, 
the-licls  drooped  over  her  eyes. 

The  child  was  satisfied,  and  looking  up  at  the  cap- 
tain, said — "  Yes,  yes,  she  will  have  a  sweet,  long  sleep. 
We  will  not  wake  her — I  promised,  you  know.  If  I 
forget,  and  begin  to  kiss  her,  don't  let  me,  please,  sir, 
for  she  always  wakes,  and  smiles,  when  I  do  that.  How 
softly  the  boat  rocks  !  Oh,  it  will  make  her  well." 

The  captain  turned  away  his  face,  for  he  knew  how 
long  that  sleep  would  be. 


36  THE     JEWEL     BOX. 

Slowly  and  sadly  they  rowed  toward  the  ship.  Fire 
and  massacre  raged  behind  them,  but  there  was  safety 
and  solemn  stillness  on  the  waters.  The  boy  clung  to 
his  mother's  garments,  and  drooped  his  head  wearily. 
The  motion  of  the  boat — the  soft  stars,  smiling  down, 
and  scattering  their  broken  images  on  the  waves — 
affected  him  peacefully.  He  longed  to  fall  asleep  with 
his  mother ;  but  somehow  the  idea  that  she  needed  his 
care,  kept  the  lids  from  sinking  entirely  over  those 
beautiful  eyes. 

At  last  the  boat  drew  close  to  the  sides  of  the  brig. 
The  captain  attempted  to  take  the  boy  in  his  arms  and 
carry  him  on  board.  But  the  little  fellow  struggled 
manfully,  and  insisted  that  his  mother  should  be  carried 
up  first.  Captain  Mason,  with  his  imperfect  knowledge 
of  French,  understood  this,  for  the  child's  face  was 
more  eloquent  than  words ;  but  the  men  only  compre- 
hended his  gestures,  and  interposed  their  superstitions 
against  his  generous  wishes. 

"  No,"  they  protested,  with  sullen  determination,  "the 
woman  is  dead — what  have  we  to  do  with  a  corpse  on 
board  the  brig  ?  Ain't  the  signs  agin  her  bad  enough, 
without  that  one  ?  Hoist  the  youngster  aboard,  captain, 
and  let  us  row  the  boat  over  to  White's  Island,  and  bury 
the  poor  critter  there !" 

The  child  turned  upon  the  sailors  and  searched  their 
faces  eagerly,  as  if  he  guessed  that  they  were  planning 
something  against  him.  The  men  dropped  their  gloomy 
eyes  beneath  his  glances,  but  were  not  the  less  resolved. 

Captain  Mason  knew  the  superstition  of  his  men  too 
well  for  any  idea  of  opposing  it  while  his  ship  lay  in 
that  dangerous  neighborhood.  He  cast  one  pitying  look 
on  the  beautiful  young  woman  who  lay  at  his  feet,  in  her 


THEJEWELBOX.  37 

calm,  eternal  slumber,  then  tenderly  addressed  the  boy: 
"Your  mother  is  asleep,  let  her  stay  here,"  he  said, 
in  very  confused  French.  But  the  attention  of  the  boy 
was  keenly  directed ;  he  understood  clearly,  and  sat 
down,  folding  his  little  arms  with  a  pleading  smile. 

"  Me  too  ?"  he  said. 

"  No,  my  child,  you  shall  go  on  deck  and  wait  while 
the  boat  rocks  here.  All  shall  go,  and  leave  your  mother 
to  sleep  alone." 

"  Is  it  best  ?"  inquired  the  boy ;  "  will  she  sleep 
longer  if  we  go  ?" 

"  Yes,  poor  orphan,  her  sleep  will  be  long  enough," 
cried  the  captain,  all  his  generous  sympathy  bursting 
forth  in  English. 

"What!"  said  the  boy,  gently,  "will  her  sleep  be 
sweeter — did  you  say  that  ?  Lift  me  up,  I  will  go.  Let 
one  of  those  big  men  put  me  on  his  shoulder.  I  shan't 
be  afraid.  My  father  is — oh,  how  brave! — so  am  I." 
The  captain  lifted  the  little  fellow  in  his  arms,  and  held 
him  against  as  good  and  true  a  heart  as  ever  beat  in 
man's  bosom — a  heart  pained  with  many  compunctions 
by  the  humane  deception  he  was  compelled  to  practice. 
The  men  made  the  boat  fast,  and  came  up  the  side  of 
the  brig,  leaving  it  rocking  softly  on  the  water. 

"  Wait  till  he  is  asleep,"  the  captain  said,  as  they 
stood  in  a  group,  anxious  for  orders.  "  Then  we  will 
take  her  to  the  island." 

The  men  retired,  somewhat  dissatisfied  at  any  delay, 
but  made  no  further  protest. 

"  Let  me  sit  here,  please,  where  I  can  look  over  and 
see  her  face  as  she  sleeps,"  said  the  gentle  child,  in  a 
sweet,  pleading  way,  that  went  to  that  captain's  heart ; 
"besides,  I  want  to  watch  for  papa.  When  the  negroes 


'38  THEJEWELBOX. 

dragged  us  away,  mamma  and  I — he  followed  after  a 
little  while,  and  when  I  looked  back  and  he  was  lying 
on  the  ground,  tired  with  running,  I  suppose  ;  but  he'll 
come,  so  if  you  don't  mind,  monsieur,  I'll  just  wait 
here." 

The  boy  had  clambered  up  to  a  cask  that  stood  near 
the  side  of  the  vessel,  as  he  spoke,  and  folding  his  arms 
on  the  bulwarks,  looked  down  with  touching  watchful- 
ness upon  the  face  of  his  mother,  which  lay,  white  as 
marble,  in  the  starlight. 

How  beautiful,  and  how  patient  was  that  childlike 
watch.  Sometimes  the  boy  would  lift  his  eyes  with  a 
troubled  look,  and  turn  them  toward  the  town,  which, 
still  glaring  and  riotous,  kept  up  its  atrocious  noises. 
Then  he  would  search  the  harbor  for  some  boat,  and 
finding  none,  sink  to  his  patient  watch  again,  murmur- 
ing, "  Oh,  but  he  will  come,  when  it  is  daylight — when  it 
is  daylight." 

At  last  the  struggles  of  nature  were  too  strong  for  a 
child  so  delicately  nurtured,  and  with  his  little  arms 
folded  on  the  bulwark  he  dropped  into  a  profound 
sleep.  But  it  was  almost  break  of  day  before  he  became 
thus  unconscious,  and  the  captain  had  no  time  to  spare. 
Taking  the  little  fellow  once  more  in  his  arms  he  laid 
him  on  his  own  bed,  and  going  instantly  on  deck,  sum- 
moned his  men.  With  eager  alacrity  they  descended 
to  the  boat.  The  captain  followed  with  a  large  cloak 
over  his  arm,  with  which  he  reverently  covered  the 
dead.  One  man  brought  a  pickaxe  and  spade,  which 
he  had  taken  from  the  cargo,  and  sat  them  in  the  stern 
of  the  boat ;  now  that  all  danger  of  a  dead  person  being 
carried  aboard  was  over,  they  went  quietly  and  seriously 
to  their  duties.  As  they  gave  the  boat  to  her  oars 


THE     BURIAL.  39 

every  arm  fell  softly  to  its  work,  it  seemed  as  if  they 
feared  that  a  single  splash  of  water  would  be  followed 
by  wails  of  pain  from  the  poor  child  whose  mother  was 
floating  away  into  eternity  while  he  dreamed. 

Across  the  waters  and  through  the  gray  gleams  of 
early  dawn  the  boat  cut  its  way  to  White's  Island — 
which  as  yet  was  calm  and  peaceful.  In  a  jungle  of 
roses,  where  lofty  cedars  sheltered  the  beautiful  coffee 
trees,  the  sailors  dug  a  grave,  leaving  the  murdered 
woman  in  the  boat  till  their  work  was  done.  The  cap- 
tain, saddened  by  this  individual  instance  of  wrong,  sat 
down  upon  the  bank  watching  the  boat,  while  his  men 
completed  their  task.  Once  or  twice  he  heard  a  move- 
ment in  the  chaparral,  as  if  some  wild  animal  were  dis- 
turbed by  his  presence,  but  he  took  no  heed,  and  at  last 
his  men  came  back. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   BURIAL. 

CAPTAIN  MASON  would  not  leave  that  delicate  crea- 
ture to  his  men,  but  folding  his  cloak  carefully  around  her, 
supported  her  head  as  she  was  lifted  from  the  boat. 
Under  the  bending  trees  and  through  the  fragrant 
shrubs  they  carried  her,  with  hushed  voices  and  cautioiis 
steps;  for  wrapped  in  the  stillness  of  the  morning  there 
was  something  awful  in  that  hastily  prepared  burial 
which  penetrated  to  the  hearts  of  those  New  England 
sailors  as  no  ceremony  could  have  done.  But  the  vines, 


40  T-H  E     BURIAL. 

that  fell  in  garlands  from  the  trees,  and  the  flowering 
branches  which  they  were  compelled  to  sweep  aside, 
made  the  passage  difficult.  Once  a  patriarch  aloe,  which 
had  shot  up  its  great  spikes  of  yellow  blossoms  for 
the  first  time  in  that  year  of  blood,  caught  an  ornament 
of  the  cloak  on  one  of  its  sharp  leaves  and  tore  it  from 
the  dead,  leaving  the  beautiful  face  and  the  long,  sweep- 
ing hair  exposed. 

That  instant  there  arose  a  fierce,  rustling  sound  in 
the  chaparral,  followed  by  a  cr}^  that  made  the  sailors 
pause  in  their  holy  work.  The  captain,  pained  by  this 
sudden  exposure  of  the  dead,  stooped,  and  with  one 
hand  strove  to  gather  up  the  cloak  which  was  now 
drawn  entirely  away,  and  trailed  like  a  pall  along  the 
path  they  had  taken.  But  at  that  instant  a  powerful  ne- 
gro tore  a  passage  through  the  chaparraV,  and  throwing 
himself  on  the  ground,  seized  upon  the  garments  of  the 
dead  lady,  and  broke  into  a  passion  of  grief  so  wild  and 
poignant  that  the  sailors  looked  at  each  other  awe- 
stricken. 

"  Is  she  dead — is  she  dead  ?"  cried  the  negro,  in  wild, 
broken  French,  which  the  captain  could  hardly  under- 
stand. "My  mistress — my  beautiful — beautiful  mis- 
tress. They  have  killed  her — why  did  she  send  Jube 
away  ? — where  is  the  little  master  ? — where  is  monsieur  ? 
All  dead,  all  murdered,  burned,  trampled  in  the  ashes." 

"  Did  you  know  this  lady  ?"  said  the  captain,  in  his 
broken  French.  "  Did  you  know  her  ?" 

The  man  looked  up ;  tears  rained  down  his  face,  and 
he  sobbed  out  an  incoherent  answer  amid  plaintive 
moans  over  his  mistress,  for  such  evidently  the  lady 
had  been. 

"  Me  know  her — me  that  swung  her  first  hammock  on 


THE     BURIAL.  41 

the  mangoe  trees — me !  ah,  strange  master,  tell  me,  is 
she  dead  ?  gone  forever  and  ever  ?  no  more  smiles,  no 
more  sweet  words  for  Jube  when  he  brings  her  fruit." 

"  Get  up,  poor  fellow,  get  up,  and  let  us  pass,"  said 
the  captain,  in  a  kindly  voice.  "  She  is  dead,  and  it  is 
dangerous  to  wait." 

The  man  drew  back,  but  still  kept  on  his  knees. 
"And  the  master,"  he  said  piteously. 

"I  can  tell  you  nothing  cf  him,"  said  the  captain; 
"but  the  boy,  the  little  one,  is  safe  in  my  ship  yonder." 

The  negro  sprang  to  his  feet,  searched  for  the  ship 
with  eager  glances,  and  began  to  clasp  and  wring  his 
hands  in  alternate  paroxysms  of  grief  and  joy. 

"  The  little  master !  The  poor,  poor  mistress  !"  he 
kept  exclaiming. 

"  Come,  let  us  pass,"  said  the  captain,  a  little  im- 
patiently, for  the  morning  had  dawned,  and  rays  of  soft, 
rosy  light  flushed  the  sky,  and  fell  trembling  on  the 
water.  "  Let  us  pass,  we  are  not  safe  a  minute  here." 

The  negro  stood  aside,  shaking  with  grief,  and  when 
the  funereal  group  had  passed  him  half  a  dozen  paces, 
he  followed  it  with  his  head  bowed  down,  and  his  clasped 
hands  falling  heavily  before  him.  Thus  he  stood  till  the 
body  was  placed  in  its  shallow  grave,  but  when  the  first 
shovelful  of  earth  was  lifted,  he  came  forward  with 
both  hands  extended  imploringly,  and  pushed  the  spade 
back.  An  orange  tree  stood  near,  on  which  the  yellow 
fruit  and  white  blossoms  hung  clustering  together 
among  the  fragrant  leaves ;  the  negro  went  to  this  tree, 
seized  one  of  the  most  richly  laden  boughs,  and  tore  the 
blossoming  branches  away  with  both  hands.  Then  he 
gathered  them  eagerly  up,  carried  them  to  the  grave, 
and  over  the  body  of  his  mistress  he  scattered  the 


42  THEBURIAL. 

flowers  till  the  turf  all  around  was  flooded  with  fra- 
grance, like  an  altar  at  some  holy  festival. 

When  this  was  done  the  poor  fellow  drew  back,  and 
covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  stood  trembling  in  all 
his  limbs  till  the  sailors  had  done  their  work,  and  dragged 
some  shrubs  and  vines  over  the  earth  under  which  his 
murdered  lady — more  fortunate  than  thousands  massa- 
cred that  fatal  night — had  found  a  death  shelter. 

The  sailors  moved  away  from  the  grave  they  had 
made,  but  the  negro  did  not  look  up,  and  they  started 
for  the  boat,  leaving  him  behind.  Then  the  stillness 
aroused  him,  and  as  the  party  neared  the  shore,  he  fol- 
lowed with  a  look  of  painful  entreaty  in  his  face,  beg- 
ging to  go  with  them  to  the  ship. 

The  captain  made  a  prompt  motion  for  him  to  come 
on ;  but  gesticulating  energetically  for  them  to  wait,  he 
ran  back  to  the  spot  where  they  had  first  seen  him, 
stooping  downward,  he  began  to  tear  up  the  earth  with 
both  hands,  flinging  the  leaves  and  sods  on  one  side  in 
wild  haste,  only  pausing  to  entreat  their  patience,  with 
a  pitiful  glance  of  the  eyes.  At  last  he  dropped  on  his 
knees,  lifted  something  from  the  hole  he  had  dug,  and 
came  forward  with  the  moist  soil  dropping  from  his 
hands,  which  were  clutched  tightly  around  a  bronze 
box.  He  followed  the  men  into  the  boat,  and  sat  down 
hugging  the  box  to  his  bosom,  and  muttering  to  him- 
self in  hurried,  eager  words,  which  no  one  present 
understcod 

When  they  reached  the  ship  the  negro  climbed  up 
the  sides  like  a  cat.  Once  on  the  deck,  he  ran  back 
and  forth,  searching  every  corner.  Then,  with  a  de- 
spairing cry,  he  sprang  upon  the  bulwarks,  lifted  the  box 
over  his  head,  and  poised  himself  for  a  plunge. 


THEBURIAL.  43 

The  captain  saw  this  desperate  attempt,  threw  both 
arms  around  the  negro,  and  dragged  him  back  upon  the 
deck. 

The  poor  fellow  scrambled  to  his  knees,  and  looking 
up  with  pitiful  abjectness,  said : 

"  He  is  not  here — the  young  master  is  not  here  ;  you 
said  he  was." 

"  Get  up  and  come  this  way,  my  poor  fellow !"  said 
the  captain,  touched  by  the  humble  pathos  of  his  disap- 
pointment. 

The  negro  sprang  up  and  seized  the  box,  which  had 
fallen  with  a  crash  on  the  deck. 

"  I  come,  master,  I  come." 

"  Hush  1"  said  the  kind-hearted  sailor,  pointing  to  his 
berth  as  they  entered  the  cabin.  "  Hush !  and  tell  me 
if  that  is  your  young  master." 

The  negro  drew  in  his  breath  with  a  sob,  and  scarcely 
seemed  to  respire  after  that.  He  crept  close  up  to  the 
berth,  and  looked  down  upon  the  boy  with  a  glow  in  his 
black  face  that  it  is  impossible  to  describe,  for  every 
ugly  feature  quivered  with  tenderness,  while  his  eyee 
filled  with  light,  like  those  of  a  Newfoundland  dog 
when  he  has  done  brave  work  for  his  master. 

"  What  will  you  do  with  us,  strange  master  ?"  he  said 
at  last,  addressing  the  captain  in  a  humble  whisper. 
"  Not  send  us  back  yonder  ?" 

He  made  a  motion  toward  the  town  with  his  hand, 
and  a  slow  horror  crept  over  his  face. 

"  No,  my  poor  fellow,  I  will  take  the  child  to  my  own 
thrice-blessed  land,  if  there  is  no  one  left  to  claim  him." 

"And  Jube — let  him  go  too.  If  the  strange  master 
wants  a  slave,  Jube  is  strong,  like  a  lion,  and  honest  as 
a  dog." 


44  THBBURIAL. 

"Poor  fellow!" 

"  See  if  Jube  is  not  honest,"  he  added,  pressing  the 
bronze  box  between  his  hands,  and  forcing  some  secret 
spring  to  recoil.  "  They  told  Jube  to  keep  them,  and 
he  did.  The  master  went  back  after  mis — went  after 
them.  Jube  wanted  to  go  with  him,  but  the  master  said, 
'  No,  stay  on  the  island,  and  guard  that ;'  so  Jube  staid, 
waiting — waiting — waiting  for  master  to  come  with  mis- 
tress and  the  little  boy.  He  never  come — never — never 
will  come  again.  The  mistress  sleeps  I  but  where  shall 
Jube  go  to  find  him,  and  give  back  the  box  ?" 

"  My  poor  fellow,  I  fear  your  master  is  dead,  from 
some  words  I  gathered  from  the  boy ;  I  am  almost  sure 
of  it." 

"  You  will  take  the  little  boy  and  Jube  away  ?"  said 
the  negro,  anxiously,  still  holding  the  box  half-shut  be- 
tween his  hands. 

"  If  no  one  comes  to  claim  him  or  you,  I  will." 

The  lid  of  the  box  flew  open,  and  a  ray  of  sunshine 
from  the  cabin  window  flashed  upon  the  jewels  with 
which  it  was  filled — diamond  necklaces,  bracelets  flaming 
wil«  rubies  and  emeralds,  ropes  of  oriental  pearls,  and 
armlets  flashing  like  rainbows,  broke  the  sunshine  into 
sparkles  of  fire. 

Mason  looked  wonderingly  on  the  eager  face  of  the 
negro. 

"And  this  treasure — did  it  belong  to  your  master?" 
he  questioned.  "  Was  it  to  guard  this,  you  hid  in  the 
chaparral  at  White  Island?" 

"All  his  ;  more,  more,  much  more  in  the  great  house 
out  there  ;  but  heavy  gold — too  heavy — we  had  to  leave 
it  and  go  back.  He  went — wouldn't  take  Jube — master 
went,  but  never  he  comes  to  see  if  Jube  is  faithful !" 


THEBUBIAL.  45 

"And  all  this  belongs  to  the  little  fellow  yonder.  God 
help  him!" 

"  You  take  little  boy — take  the  box,  and  take  Jube ; 
he  gives  you  all  1" 

Jube  closed  the  box,  dropped  on  both  knees,  and  held 
it  up. 

Captain  Mason  hesitated,  looked  at  the  sleeping  child 
and  its  strange  guardian,  shrinking  from  the  trust 
which  chance  had  imposed  upon  him.  But  he  felt  that  a 
sacred  duty  was  placed  before  him,  from  which  no 
honest  man  should  wish  to  retreat. 

He  took  the  box,  but  as  his  hands  touched  the  metal 
a  cold  chill  crept  to  his  heart,  and  a  mist  floated  before 
his  eyes — an  unstable,  reddish  mist,  such  as  floods 
a  room  when  the  light  is  filtered  through  crimson 
drapery. 

Perhaps  the  red  curtain  had  fluttered  before  the  cabin 
window ;  but  if  so,  he  felt  the  startling  effect  without 
knowing  its  cause,  and  the  box  shook  in  his  hands,  till 
the  jewels  within  gave  forth  a  faint  sound. 

"  You  will  take  us,"  pleaded  the  negro,  frightened  by 
the  change  in  Captain  Mason's  countenance. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  brave  man,  casting  off  the  feel- 
ing that  had  seized  upon  him ;  "  I  accept  the  trust ;  God 
has  placed  it  in  my  hands.  As  I  discharge  it,  may  he 
prove  merciful  to  me  and  mine." 

The  captain  spoke  to  himself,  and  from  the  feelings 
that  filled  his  heart,  rather  than  in  reply  to  the  negro ; 
but  the  expression  of  his  face  was  full  of  grand  resolve, 
which  the  slave  could  read  better  than  language.  So  he 
looked  on  with  a  glow  of  satisfaction  while  the  box  was 
packed  up  among  the  most  valuable  property  the  cap- 
tain possessed. 


46  THE     FAITHFUL     SLAVE. 

All  this  time  the  cabin  door  had  been  ajar,  and  but 
for  the  excitement  consequent  to  the  scene,  Captain 
Mason  might  have  heard  cautious  steps  creeping  down 
the  stairs,  and  the  suppressed  breathing  of  a  man  who 
skulked  on  the  lowest  steps,  with  his  greedy  eyes  fixed 
on  the  jewels,  as  they  flashed  that  one  minute  in  the 
negro's  hands.  The  listener  waited  until  he  saw  the 
treasure  put  safely  away,  and  heard  the  captain's  promise. 
Then  he  went  up  the  steps,  two  at  a  time,  with  soft, 
cautious  leaps,  like  those  of  a  fox,  and  when  the  captain 
came  on  deck,  his  mate  was  busy  superintending  the 
boat,  as  it  was  hauled  to  its  fastenings. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    FAITHFUL   SLAVE. 

IN  France,  the  awful  strife  of  the  Revolution  had 
sprung  out  of  oppressions  heaped  by  one  class  upon 
another,  from  century  to  century,  until  the  people  be- 
gan to  comprehend  the  powers  that  lay  in  mere  physi- 
cal strength,  and  hurled  themselves  in  a  phrensy  of  hate 
on  their  oppressors.  But  even  Paris,  whose  awful  ex- 
ample had  run  like  wildfire  all  over  France  and  its  de- 
pendencies, plunged  into  its  carnival  of  blood  with  far 
less  ferocity  than  marked  this  outbreak  of  Negroes  in 
St.  Domingo.  In  Paris,  it  was  an  upheaving  of  classes, 
marked  and  established  by  men  of  kindred  blood,  and 
born  to  the  same  soil.  A  struggle  of  men  clamorous 
for  their  birthright  of  freedom,  which  they  were  deter- 
mined to  wrest  from  the  strong  hand  of  power. 


THE     FAITHFUL     SLAVE.  47 

Ages  of  oppression  could  not  be  hurled  off  thus  sud- 
denly, without  horrible  carnage.  But  there,  it  was  the 
people  against  a  government — white  men  struggling 
against  white  men.  In  a  mighty  effort  to  upheave  the 
foundations  of  despotism,  the  people  grew  mad.  In  their 
ardor  for  liberty,  and  in  the  ignorance  of  her  very  visage, 
they  trampled  her  in  the  dust,  setting  up  red  handed 
murder  in  her  place,  dealing  death  on  every  hand,  as 
they  hurled  themselves  with  mighty  force  on  their  op- 
pressors and  trampled  upon  them  with  that  ferocious  hate 
continual  wrongs  will  ever  engender.  But  in  the  hot 
tropics,  this  struggle  became  a  war  of  races,  the  most 
fierce,  terrible,  and  relentless  that  humanity  has  yet 
known.  It  became  a  war  of  blacks  against  whites. 
Slaves  against  their  masters.  Where  hate  and  ignorance 
hurled  their  massive  strength  against  luxurious  refine- 
ment. The  brightest  features  of  this  horrible  struggle 
were,  the  murders  that  gave  Paris  so  many  blood  red 
pages  in  history,  pages  that  all  her  after  greatness  and 
glory  will  never  have  power  to  wash  white. 

The  massacre  of  St.  Domingo  was  one  of  intense 
hate.  The  black  slave,  brutalized  by  the  chains  he 
wore,  stood  on  every  hearthstone  ready  for  revenge 
on  his  white  master.  That  which  followed  was  not 
merely  a  massacre  but  a  hurried  carnival  of  ruin,  a 
riot  of  awful  passions,  of  atrocities  for  which  there  is 
no  language,  and  from  which  the  imagination  revolts 
with  sickening  inability  of  comprehension. 

Of  all  the  horrors  perpetrated  in  the  French  Revolu- 
tion, which  was  one  great  horror  in  itself,  that  of  St. 
Domingo  was  the  most  brutal  the  most  demoniac. 
And  such  a  war  of  races — a  war  between  white  men  and 
negroes  must  ever  be.  With  the  despotism  of  long 


48  THE     FAITHFUL     SLAVE. 

established  power,  luxurious  ease,  and  pampered  intel- 
ligence, opposed  to  the  hot  blood  of  Africa,  scarcely 
subdued  from  its  first  savage  state,  fired  by  the  memory 
of  slave  ships,  chains,  starvation,  barter,  and  above  all, 
the  wild  freedom  which  preceded  these  wrongs,  who 
can  wonder  at  the  scenes  which  made  that  lovely  island 
a  purgatory  of  crime. 

But  these  scenes  no  human  being  can  ever  describe. 
It  would  require  a  pen  of  adamant  and  the  heart  of  a 
fiend  to  depict  a  single  act  of  that  fearful  outbreak. 

All  the  night,  and  deep  into  the  sweet  rosiness  of  the 
morning  the  terrible  strife  raged  on  in  that  doomed 
city.  But  in  the  broad  day  these  black  savages  began 
to  retreat  from  their  ghastly  orgies,  and,  for  a  time,  the 
delirium  of  murder  waned  from  its  climax.  The  thirst 
for  rapine  slackened  to  a  degree,  and  the  monsters  who 
had  found  this  ferocious  pastime  full  of  intoxication, 
grew  sluggish  like  wild  beasts  satiated  with  blood. 

Some  of  these  wretches  lay  down  in  the  public  streets, 
and  fell  asleep  in  the  hot  sun ;  others  huddled  together 
in  torpid  masses  and  sunk  into  stupor,  dreaming  of 
coming  nights,  which  should  give  them  a  new  riot  of 
blood  and  fire.  Stumbling  over  these,  fierce  crowds  of 
untired  demons  kept  on  their  work,  stabbing  right  and 
left  in  brutal  wantonness,  for  a  lack  of  victims,  and  sick- 
ening the  air  with  boasts  of  hideous  acts  performed  in  the 
night,  and  which  another  night  should  witness.  Never 
on  this  earth  had  a  scene  more  revolting  presented  itself 
to  the  beautiful  sunshine. 

But  human  nature  is  not  all  vile,  and  even  among 
those  ignorant,  ill-used  blacks,  germs  of  compassion, 
tenderness,  and  good  faith  are  found,  redeeming,  in  a 
degree,  the  harrowing  cruelties  of  the  many.  Among 


THE     FAITHFUL     SLAVE.  49 

these  good  men — good  in  spite  of  ignorance  and  wrong 
endured — was  the  black  man  Jube.  If  ever  faithful- 
ness, natural  feeling,  and  a  simple  sense  of  honor, 
dwelt  in  a  human  being,  these  feelings  throve  in  the 
broad,  cloudy  bosom  of  the  slave,  and  many  another 
household  servant  became  a  household  saviour  in  that 
cruel  time. 

While  his  little  master  was  wrapped  in  the  deep  slum- 
ber which  follows  exhaustion,  the  negro  had  besought  per- 
mission to  go  on  shore  and  search  for  his  master.  Cap- 
tain Mason,  in  his  generous  pity  of  the  poor  fellow,  sent 
the  boat  back  to  the  place  it  had  reached  the  night  be- 
fore, to  lie  in  wait  for  the  negro  while  he  searched 
around  the  palm  trees  and  the  neighboring  chaparral 
for  some  traces  of  the  noble  master  who  had  won  his 
whole  savage  heart  by  great  kindness. 

The  men  who  waited  in  the  boat  saw  him  wandering 
along  the  shore  in  a  dejected  attitude,  for  a  long  time. 
At  last  he  came  near  a  great  spreading  aloe,  whose  broad 
under  leaves  were  half  buried  in  the  sand.  Those  who 
watched,  heard  a  low,  wailing  cry,  and  saw  the  negro 
fall  upon  his  knees,  and  rock  to  and  fro  in  an  agony 
of  grief  over  some  object  concealed  behind  the  aloe. 

"  He's  found  something  that's  cut  him  down  like  grape 
shot,"  said  one  of  the  sailors,  flinging  a  quid  of  tobacco, 
which  he  had  just  cut  for  himself,  back  into  his  box,  and 
closing  it  softly. 

"  Such  a  scream  as  that  is  enough  to  take  a  man  off 
his  tobacco  for  a  month,"  answered  another  tar,  taking 
off  his  tarpaulin,  and  wiping  his  bald  head  with  the 
sleeve  of  his  jacket. 

"  Supposen  we  pull  in  and  see  what  it  is  ?"  said  Rice. 

"  No ;  the  captain  told  us  not  to  go  ashore.     Some  of 
3 


50  THE     FAITHFUL     SLAVE. 

them  tarual  niggers  'ed  get  hold  of  the  boat,  spite  of 
us,"  answered  the  old  tar. 

"  But  we'll  row  up  into  shallow  water,  and  one  of  us 
can  go  see  what's  the  matter,  and  the  rest  'ell  take  cai-e 
of  the  cutter.  Every  thing  seems  to  be  still  along  there, 
not  a  nigger  in  sight,"  answered  Rice,  who  commanded 
the  boat. 

The  boat  was  urged  into  water  so  shallow  that  one 
of  the  sailors  rolled  up  his  duck  trousers  and  stepped 
in,  wading  easily  ashore.  With  a  long,  rolling  step  he 
swung  himself  forward  up  the  beach,  and  soon  found 
Jube  on  his  knees  by  the  body  of  a  dead  man,  who  lay 
in  the  gaunt  shadow  of  the  aloe,  pierced  through  the 
heart,  with  a  spear  broken  short  in  the  wound. 

Jube  looked  up,  his  black  face  wet  with  tears,  his 
great  hands  clasped  and  pressed  downward  in  the  sand. 

"  It  is  him.  Me  has  found  the  master,"  he  said  in 
broken  English.  "  Cold  !  cold  !  oh,  so  dead !" 

The  sailor  looked  down  into  the  calm,  aristocratic 
face  of  the  dead  patrician — for  such  the  man  evidently 
was — no  marble  could  ever  have  been  more  finely  cut, 
or  coldly  pale  than  those  features.  But  for  the  masses 
of  glossy  hair  and  the  black  eyes,  that  remained  partly 
open,  the  idea  of  some  perfect  specimen  of  sculpture 
would  have  been  complete. 

Jube  unclasped  his  great  hands,  and  with  a  reveren- 
tial touch  attempted  to  close  the  eyes. 

"  It's  of  no  sorts  of  use,"  said  the  sailor,  "  you  poor 
heathen  nigger  you.  It  ain't  possible  to  shut  them 
eyes  now ;  they'll  stay  wide  awake  till  the  judgment  day. 
All  we  can  do  is  to  dig  a  trench  here,  close  by  this 
thing  with  the  notched  leaves,  and  lay  him  in.  Come, 
bear  a  hand,  and  I'll  help  you,  if  you  are  black ;  this 


THE     FAITHFUL     SLAVE.  51 

ain't  no  time  to  be  perticular,  besides  I've  kinder  took  a 
notion  to  you,  anyhow." 

Jube  did  not  comprehend  many  of  the  words,  but  he 
understood  the  gestures,  and  went  to  work,  raining  great 
tears  on  the  sand  as  he  scraped  it  up. 

The  sailor  fell  to,  and  worked  vigorously,  comforting 
the  negro,  in  his  rough  way,  all  the  time.  At  last  a 
trench  of  some  depth  was  dug,  and  the  sailor  bade  Jube 
help  him  lift  the  body  into  its  poor  resting-place.  Then 
Jube  began  to  sob,  and  tremble  through  all  his  massive 
frame,  but  he  obeyed  meekly.  The  garments  upon  the 
body  were  rich  and  of  value.  That  sailor  only  got  ten 
dollars  a  month  for  his  hard  labor,  but  he  never  thought 
of  taking  a  fragment  of  those  rich  clothes,  nor  attempted 
to  examine  the  pockets,  though  a  clink  of  gold,  as  they 
lifted  the  body,  told  him  that  what  might  have  been 
wealth  to  him  was  there.  As  for  Jube,  poor  fellow,  he 
scarcely  knew  what  money  meant,  and  if  he  had,  would 
have  guarded  that  about  his  master's  person  with  his 
life. 

So  they  lifted  that  proud  and  noble  man  from  the 
red  sand  where  he  had  been  murdered,  and  laid  him  in 
the  best  grave  they  had  the  power  to  make.  Jube  tore 
away  one  of  the  great  aloe  leaves,  and  laid  it  over  the 
•white  face,  moaning  like  a  wounded  creature,  as  he  shut 
it  out  from  his  own  sight ;  but  he  shook  so  violently, 
that  the  sailor,  with  rough  kindness,  bade  him  go  away, 
while  he  filled  in  the  grave,  and  evened  the  sand.  So 
•  Jube  sat  down  in  the  shade  of  the  aloe,  and  covering  his 
face  with  his  hands,  sat  still  waiting. 

When  that  boat  neared  the  vessel,  Jube  saw  his  young 
master  leaning  over  the  bulwarks,  and  watching  it  with. 
v  longing  impatience. 


52  THE     FAITHFUL     SLAVE. 

"  Jube,  oh,  Jube  !  why  did  they  not  come  ?  I  thought 
they  would  both  be  with  you!"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of 
keen  disappointment.  "  Come  up,  come  vip,  and  tell  me ; 
the  time  has  seemed  so  long." 

Jube  climbed  up  the  rope  ladder  very  slowly,  with  his 
black  face  bent  toward  the  water.  At  last  he  stood 
on  the  deck,  his  heavy  shoulders  drooping,  his  eyes  cast 
down,  and  his  great  bare  feet  trembling  on  the  boards 
they  pressed. 

"  Jube,  Jube !  tell  me  where  they  are  ?  Why  did 
mamma  go  away,  and  not  call  me  ?  It  wasn't  kind, 
Jube." 

"  Mistress  always  kind,  very  kind,  little  master,"  stam- 
mered Jube,  trying  hard  to  control  the  tremulous  motion 
that  contracted  his  heavy  lips. 

"But  where ?     Is  she  with  papa ?" 

"  Yes,  little  master.     She — she  is  with  papa,  sure." 

"Jube,  did  they  both  go  home  and  leave  me  ?"  ques- 
tioned the  child,  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  "  Did  they, 
Jube  ?" 

"No,  little  master,  they  didn't  do  that;  how  could 
they  ?" 

"  Well,  then,  where  are  they  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  old  home,  be  sure,  not  there  ;  bad  slaves, 
bad  negro  there." 

"  But  are  they  safe  ?" 

"Yes;  safe." 

"  On  shore  ?" 

"Yes,  little  master,  safe  on  the  shore." 

"  But  when  will  they  come  after  us,  Jube  ?  I  do  so 
want  to  see  them.  Mamma  was  so  tired  she  couldn't 
say  good-night,  and  papa — I  feel  very,  very  unhappy 
about  papa ;  he  never  left  me  so  long  before." 


THE     FAITHFUL     SLAVE.  53 

"But  he  couldn't  help  it,  little  master;  sure  he 
couldn't." 

"  I  know  that.  Of  course  he  couldn't ;  but,  oh  !  when 
will  he  come  ?  Jube,  Jube,  my  heart  aches  so !" 

"  Jube's  heart  aches,  too." 

"  Does  it,  Jube,  like  mine — heavy,  heavy ;  and  when 
I  ask  you  about  them,  it  aches  worse  ?  Dear  old  Jube, 
I  won't  do  it.  You  shall  see  how  bravely  I  can  wait." 

The  child  took  one  of  Jube's  hard  hands  in  his,  as  he 
spoke,  and  led  the  negro  away. 

"Why,  how  you  shake,  Jube!  What  for?  I  never 
felt  you  shake  so  before !"  he  said,  laying  his  other  deli- 
cate hand  caressingly  over  that  of  the  black  man's. 

"  Jube  helped  row  the  boat,  little  master,  and  it  is  hard 
work." 

"  But  you  are  so  strong,  Jube ;  strong  as  a  lion,  and 
as  brave  ;  papa  said  so." 

"  Did  he  say  that,  little  master ;  did  he  ?" 

"  There,  you  are  shaking  again !  Sit  down,  Jube. 
Don't  be  afraid ;  I  won't  ask  any  thing.  There,  lean 
your  head  against  the  mast ;  I  will  watch  for  them  while 
you  rest." 

"No,  don't  watch.     They  won't  come  yet — not  yet." 

"Not  before  night,  perhaps." 

Jube  closed  his  eyes  heavily,  and  groaned. 

It  was  mournful — the  sight  of  that  strange  child,  sit- 
ting upon  Jube's  knee  and  watching  the  shore  with  a 
trusting,  earnest  hope  that  his  father  and  mother  would 
seek  him  over  the  water  where  she  had  fallen  asleep  and 
floated  away,  but  would  be  sure  to  come  back  when  papa 
was  found.  The  child  said  this  a  hundred  times,  as  he 
patted  the  hard  palm  of  the  slave  with  his  little  hand, 
while  Jube  answered  bravely,  each  time,  "Oh,  yes, 


64:  THE     SEARCH     FOE     GOLD. 

Master  Paul,  sometime  they  shall  see  us  again.  That's 
what  the  captain  was  saying  to  me  just  now.  I  hope  it's 
true,  little  master;  for  your  sake  I  hope  he  knows." 

When  he  had  done  speaking,  Jube  would  turn  his 
head  quite  away,  and  shake  the  tears  from  his  eyes, 
while  the  boy  fell  to  his  patient  watch  again. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    SEARCH   FOR   GOLD. 

PAUL  saw  that  questions  wounded  his  black  friend, 
and  fell  into  silence,  thinking  of  his  parents  with  mourn- 
ful yearning,  but  not  mentioning  them  again. 

It  was  a  long,  dreary  day ;  but  the  sunset  came  at  last, 
flooding  the  harbor  with  crimson,  which  made  the  water 
look  ensanguined  like  the  land.  One  by  one  the  lights 
of  the  town  began  to  flame  out  again,  and  hoarse  sounds 
mingled  with  the  surf  of  the  tide.  Now  the  boy  became 
restless,  and  his  eyes  began  to  gleam  impatiently. 

"  Jube,  dear  Jube,  let  us  go  ashore  with  a  big  boat, 
and  bring  them  away!  don't  you  hear  the  noise — don't 
you  see  how  the  fire  flashes.  They'll  be  hurt,  Jube,  and 
we  shan't  be  there  to  help  them." 

Thrasher,  the  mate,  was  passing  as  the  boy  said  this ; 
he  paused,  and  patted  the  little  fellow's  head. 

"  Who  is  it  you  want  to  help,  my  little  man  ?"  he  said. 

The  child  shrunk  against  his  black  guardian,  and 


THE     SEARCH     FOR     GOLD.  55 

looked  up  with  such  gentle  earnestness  that  Thrasher's 
eyes  fell  under  the  glance. 

"  We  want  to  go  after  them,  monsieur.  My  papa  and 
mamma  ;  she  couldn't  wait  for  me,  because  papa  wanted 
her,  and  so  rowed  away  after  him.  But  she  sent  dear 
old  Jube  to  stay  with  me,  didn't  she  Jube  ?" 

He  lifted  both  hands,  and  pressed  the  palms  lovingly 
against  the  black  cheeks  of  the  slave,  with  a  childish- 
ness which  was  the  more  touching  because  of  its  mournful 
trust. 

"  So  you  think  your  mother  has  gone  back  to  the  shore 
again?"  said  Thrasher,  whose  attention  to  this  child  was 
singular,  for  he  was  in  no  way  a  man  of  fine  sensibilities, 
and  had  received  the  boy,  and,  afterward,  the  slave, 
rather  grudgingly. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Paul ;  "  after  papa  lay  down  to  rest, 
you  know,  mamma  wanted  to  go  back  there,  and  strug- 
gled, and  cried  ;  but  they  wouldn't  let  her.  You  might 
know  she'd  be  off  the  minute  she  woke  up  and  found  the 
captain  had  left  her  with  a  boat  all  to  herself;  but  she's 
a  long  time.  Don't  you  think  it's  a  long  time.  I'm  so 
tired  of  waiting." 

"And  who  was  your  mamma,  my  little  man  ?" 

"My  mamma!  she  was  a  beautiful  lady,  oh!  so  beau- 
tiful !  I  know  that's  true,  because  papa  told  her  so  every 
day,  when  she  put  the  red  roses  in  her  hair  that  Jube 
brought.  You  remember,  Jube  ?" 

"Yes,  little  master,  I  remember;  but  turn  your  eyes 
away,  I  can't  bear  'em  just  now." 

"  And  where  did  your  father  live  ?"  persisted  the  mate, 
feeling  his  way  adroitly,  as  a  pointer  scents  his  game. 

The  child  pointed  toward  the  town. 

"  In  a  luroe  house  ?"  said  Thrasher. 


56  THE     SEARCH     FOR     GOLD. 

"  The  biggest  house  on  the  island,"  answered  Jube, 
true  to  the  instincts  of  his  class. 

"And  they  drove  }-our  master  away  like  the  rest  ?" 

"  Like  the  meanest  of  them  all.  It  was  his  own  slaves 
began.  They  knew  of  his  gold,  and  that  he  wanted  to 
send  it  off  to  some  other  country." 

"  He  was  rich,  then  ?" 

"  Rich — no  man  like  him  in  all  Domingo !  It  was  a 
great  family — six  brothers ;  they  all  gathered  up  their 
gold  and  brought  it  to  my  master's,  ready  to  be  put  on 
board  some  ship — this  one  it  may  be.  I  had  care  of  the 
gold,  but  the  boxes  were  heavy,  and  the  other  slaves 
guessed  what  was  in  them,  and  told  about  it.  But  they 
did  not  know  where  it  was  hid,  for  my  master  and  his 
brothers  only  went  with  me  to  the  cellar.  It  was  a  heavy 
lift  for  gentlemen  like  them,  but  we  got  it  all  into  the 
vault,  and  heaped  stones  and  rubbish  against  the  door. 
They  meant  to  move  it  that  very  night.  A  boat  was 
ready  to  carry  it  to  White's  Island.  The  day  before, 
masters  and  I  went  there,  and  dug  a  pit  to  bury  it  in." 

"And  did  you  take  it  there  ?"  asked  the  mate,  with 
suppressed  eagerness. 

"  JSo,  surety — no !"  answered  the  slave,  with  a  sudden 
gleam  of  caution.  "  The  patriots  fell  upon  us — they 
began  to  burn  and  kill  without  warning.  My  master 
sent  me  to  the  boat,  and  told  me  to  wait  till  he  came  with 
the  mistress ;  but  they  fired  the  wharves,  which  made 
the  water  one  blaze  of  light ;  and  I  could  not  come  near 
the  shore,  try  as  I  would.  So  at  last  I  went  to  the 
island,  and  waited  ;  but  instead  of  my  master — oh 
know  what  came  there  I" 

"  But  the  gold — did  any  one  find  the  gold  ?" 

"  How  do  I  know  ?" 


THE     SEARCH     FOB     GOLD.  57 

"And  the  house — was  it  burned  ?" 

"  No ;  little  master  says  they  were  dancing,  and  shout- 
ing, and  drinking  wine  from  the  cellars  when  the  family 
was  driven  out." 

"And  your  master,  where  is  he — his  brothers,  what 
became  of  them  ?"  questioned  the  mate,  so  excited  that 
his  voice  grew  hoarse. 

"  Hush,"  said  Jube,  glancing  at  the  boy. 

"All  ?"  whispered  Thrasher. 

"All,  master." 

"  Where  did  you  say  the  house  stood  ?" 

"  Yonder,  on  the  edge  of  the  town ;  you  can  see  its 
white  walls  in  the  sunset  behind  the  mango  trees." 

"What,  that  house  ?  I  know  it,  I  have  passed  its  gar- 
dens a  hundred  times." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  never  pass  them  again,"  said  Jube,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh  yes ;  papa  will  come  after  us,  don't  say  that, 
Jube,"  whispered  the  boy. 

The  mate,  who  had  taken  so  much  interest  in  them 
both,  now  turned  abruptly  away,  and  began  to  pace  the 
deck,  with  the  quick,  heavy  tread  of  a  man  who  thinks 
excitedly.  At  last  he  paused,  stood  looking  over  the 
bulwarks  awhile,  and  then  went  below. 

The  captain  was  in  his  cabin  when  the  mate  entered 
rather  abruptly. 

"  Captain  Mason,"  he  said,  "you  had  the  luck  to  do 
some  good  on  shore  last  night,  what  if  I  take  a  turn  with 
three  or  four  of  the  men  ?  The  black  rascals  will  be  at 
their  work  again,  no  doubt 

The  captain  looked  up  surprised.  It  was  the  first  in- 
stance of  humanity  he  had  ever  known  in  his  mate. 


58  THE     SEARCH     FOR     GOLD. 

"  Go  by  all  means,"  he  said ;  "  pick  your  men  and  God 
speed  you !" 

Thrasher  did  not  start  so  promptly  as  his  eagerness 
seemed  to  promise.  He  was  a  long  time  lowering  the 
boat,  and  paused  more  than  once  to  cross-question  the 
slave  and  the  little  boy,  always  managing  to  gain  some 
fresh  knowledge  with  every  innocent  answer  he  re- 
ceived. 

At  last,  after  the  night  had  set  fairly  in,  he  descended 
to  the  boat,  followed  by  four  stout  men,  selected  from 
the  crew.  The  boy  watched  his  movements  with  anxious 
e}res,  and  Jube  seemed  troubled  as  the  boat  glided  off 
into  the  twilight. 

They  reached  the  shore,  Thrasher  and  his  crew,  with- 
out molestation ;  a  broken  attempt  at  riot  had  been 
made  early  in  the  evening,  but  the  blacks  were  besotted 
with  a  carousal  of  blood  which  had  now  lasted  forty- 
eight  hours,  and  fell  into  sluggish  inactivity ;  so  the 
band  of  sailors,  always  popular  men  with  the  blacks, 
made  their  way  safely  enough  up  to  the  walls  of  the 
white  villa,  which  Jube  had  pointed  out  from  the  ship. 
It  was  a  vast  pile,  built  low  on  the  ground,  but  covering 
a  spacious  area,  and  enclosing  a  court,  overrun  with 
flowers,  that  filled  the  air  with  fragrance,  trampled  and 
torn  as  they  had  been. 

It  was  one  vast  scene  of  desolation.  The  broad  gates 
were  flung  open,  the  trees  that  overhung  them  were 
broken,  and  their  branches  trailed  on  the  ground  ;  while 
a  host  of  rude  feet  had  trampled  the  luscious  fruit  upon 
the  pavement  of  the  court.  Among  the  roses,  and  pas- 
sion-flowers, and  cape-jessamines  that  trailed  along  the 
court,  a  fountain  flung  up  jets  of  pure  water ;  but  its 
basin  of  white  marble  was  clouded  with  broad  crimson 


THE     SEARCH     FOR     GOLD.  59 

stains,  that  all  the  crystal  springs  on  earth  would  never 
wash  out.  Over  the  arched  entrances  that  led  to  the 
separate  apartments  of  the  house,  lamps  of  colored 
glass  were  swinging  exactly  as  they  had  been  lighted 
when  the  family  were  surprised  by  the  murderers,  flee- 
ing from  them  only  to  meet  a  more  terrible  fate  outside 
the  walls.  No  one  had  cared  to  put  the  lamps  out,  so 
they  burned  on  through  the  daytime,  and  into  this 
second  gloomy  night. 

The  mate  and  his  men  stood  a  moment  in  the  court, 
not  to  breathe  its  delicious  atmosphere,  but  to  take  their 
bearings,  as  he  said,  with  unseemly  spirit.  Lights 
burned  in  a  few  of  the  windows,  and  he  saw  by  the 
gossamer  draperies,  and  silken  gleam  within — for  the 
latter  shone  richly  through  a  lattice-work  of  flowers 
which  filled  the  verandas — that  he  was  near  that  wing 
of  the  vast  building  usually  occupied  by  the  family, 
now  utterly  dispersed,  save  one  little  child  and  a  single 
slave. 

"  From  these  rooms  there  should  be  some  passage 
leading  to  the  cellars,"  reasoned  the  mate,  as  he  mounted 
a  flight  of  marble  stairs  that  led  to  the  first  gallery, 
and  was  followed  by  his  men,  whose  heavy  footsteps 
broke  the  bell-like  fall  of  the  fountain  with  their  coarse 
noise. 

The  work  of  desolation  was  complete  in  those  vast 
saloons.  The  broad  silken  divans  were  trampled  over 
by  the  tracks  of  naked  feet,  left  on  the  delicate  fabric 
in  long  trails  of  soot.  Chandeliers  of  frosted  silver, 
and  lamps  of  delicate  alabaster,  were  torn  down  and 
overturned,  with  their  wax  candles,  broken  and  trampled 
upon  the  floor,  and  perfumed  oil  dripping  along  the 
pure  marble.  Many  of  the  lace  window-curtains  were 


60  THE     SEARCH     FOR     GOLD. 

torn  to  shreds ;  others  were  gathered  up  and  twisted  in 
soiled  wisps  over  the  cornices ;  some  still  floated  in 
gossamer  softness  over  the  windows,  through  which 
orange  branches,  heavy  with  bloom  and  golden  with 
fruit,  looked  in,  rustling  to  the  night  wind  with  sweet, 
lulling  sounds. 

The  men  passed  through  these  saloons,  trampling 
many  a  precious  thing  under  their  feet,  which  a  delicate 
feminine  taste  had  gathered  to  beautify  the  dwelling. 
They  rushed  through  the  broad  saloons,  and  into  the 
more  private  apartments — apartments  in  themselves  so 
pure  and  spotless,  that  the  insurgents  had  turned  from 
them,  as  fiends  might  be  supposed  to  shrink  away  from 
the  resting-place  of  angels.  The  couches  were  un- 
touched, and  white  as  snow;  flowers  stood,  but  half 
withered,  on  the  marble  consoles ;  a  few  ornaments, 
dropped  on  the  floor,  bespoke  some  haste,  but  no  vio- 
lence. One  of  the  sailors  crushed  a  string  of  pearls 
under  his  foot,  and  ground  it  to  powder  upon  the  mar- 
ble floor.  Another  tangled  his  boot  in  a  web  of  costly 
lace,  that  had  been  hastily  taken  from  a  drawer  and 
dropped  in  the  terror  of  a  sudden  assault.  The  man 
tore  it  away  from  his  boot  with  a  smothered  growl,  and 
the  party  went  on,  looking  cautiously  back  to  be  sure 
that  no  one  followed. 

The  mate  had  guessed  well.  He  found  a  passage 
leading  from  one  of  the  lower  galleries  into  the  cellar, 
which  was  now  half  flooded  with  wine  that  had  been 
left  to  flow  from  the  reeking  casks  without  check.  Here 
the  blacks  had  held  a  grand  carouse  after  the  massacre 
under  the  palm  trees.  Bottles  had  been  dashed  against 
the  walls,  and  the  fragments  were  trodden  into  the  earth, 
which  sent  up  mingled  fumes  of  wines  and  liquors, 


THEFLOGGING.  61 

with  a  strength  that  almost  stifled  even  those  tough 
sailors. 

Plashing  across  the  moist  floor  till  his  boots  were  red 
with  wine,  the  mate  found  a  pile  of  rubbish  heaped 
against  the  wall.  He  held  up  a  little  silver  lamp,  which 
had  burned  its  perfumed  oil  long  after  the  fair  hand 
was  cold  that  filled  it,  and  bade  the  men  go  to  work. 
lie  spoke  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  that  almost  startled  him- 
self. 

The  bricks  and  loose  stones  flew  right  and  left,  reveal- 
ing a  low  iron  door.  The  foremost  man  swung  the 
crowbar  over  his  head  to  dash  the  door  in,  but  that  in- 
stant Thrasher  seized  him  by  the  arm.  The  man  turned 
angrily  around.  Then,  struck  by  the  dead  whiteness  of 
Thrasher's  face,  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  and  the  iron 
fell  heavily  from  his  grasp. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    FLOGGING. 

THEY  were  far  out  to  sea,  the  New  England  brig 
which  lay  in  the  harbor  of  Port  au  Prince  on  that  terri- 
ble night,  with  the  unhappy  and  helpless  creatures  who 
had  found  protection  under  its  flag.  Thrasher,  who  was 
the  commander  now,  sat  in  his  cabin  at  breakfast.  He 
held  a  cup  of  coffee  in  one  hand  which  seemed  to  have 
excited  his  disfavor,  for  setting  it  on  the  table  and  dash- 
ing the  spoon  so  angrily  into  the  coffee  that  it  scattered 
the  drops  all  around,  he  called  out, 


62  THEF  LOGGING. 

"  Come  here,  you  brat." 

Paul,  the  little  boy  whom  Captain  Mason  had  saved, 
came  reluctantly  forward,  his  black  eyes  heavy  with 
fear,  and  his  delicate  limbs  trembling,  as  you  see 
those  of  an  Italian  greyhound  when  driven  into  the 
cold. 

Why  don't  you  move — what  do  you   stand  there 
shaking  like  a  thief  for  ?" 

These  coarse  words  were  made  even  more  brutal  by 
the  base  French  in  which  they  were  uttered.  At  any 
time  the  boy  could  with  difficulty  have  understood 
them  ;  in  his  fright  he  could  only  stand  still,  with  his 
terror  stricken  face  turned  away  from  the  man  who  per- 
secuted him. 

"  Why  don't  you  move,  I  say  ?"  repeated  the  com- 
mander. 

"  What  for,  monsieur — what  shall  I  do  ?"  asked  the 
child. 

"  What  shall  you  do  ?"  answered  the  man,  mimicking 
the  gentle  terror  in  the  child's  voice  with  a  rough  drawl 
of  mockery.  "  What  shall  you  do  ?  why  go  to  Jube, 
your  father,  and  tell  him  to  come  here  this  instant !  I'll 
teach  him  to  send  coffee  like  that  to  a  gentleman's  table. 
Bah,  it's  bitter  as  gall  and  thick  as  mud.  Go  call  your 
father,  I  say." 

"  My  father !"  said  the  boy — "  my  father !"  and  his 
beautiful  eyes  were  instantly  flooded  with  tears. 

"  Yes,  that  nigger,  Jube." 

"  But  Jube  is  our  slave,  not  my  father." 

"  What !  don't  let  me  hear  you  tell  that  again  or  I'll 
give  you  a  taste  of  the  cat-o-nine-tails,  no  humbug  with 
me,  now  I  tell  you  " 

The  boy  shrank  back,  but  gleams  of  fire  shot  through 


THE     FLOGGING.  63 

the  tears  that  still  trembled  in  his  eyes ;  he  felt  that  the 
man  was  insulting  hini,  but  did  not  quite  comprehend 
how. 

"  Go  call  your  father,  I  say,"  repeated  his  tormentor. 

"  I'll  call  Jube  if  you  want  me  to,"  said  Paul,  with  the 
dignity  of  a  little  prince,  "  but  if  I  were  to  call  ever  so 
long  my  father — oh,  my  father  1 — will  never,  never  come." 

The  pale  face  of  the  child  burned  red  as  he  began  to 
speak,  but  it  was  pallid  again  before  he  closed,  and  his 
proud  voice  broke  into  sobs. 

"  Take  that,  and  mind  how  you  howl  when  I  speak  to 
you  again,"  cried  the  tyrant,  giving  that  pale  cheek  a 
blow  with  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

The  little  fellow  staggered  back  and  uttered  a  faint 
cry,  but  in  an  instant  the  dignity  of  blood  aroused  itself 
even  in  that  childish  heart.  He  stood  up  bravely,  pride 
of  race  sparkling  through  his  tears. 

"  I  am  not  a  slave,  and  you  have  struck  me." 

The  mate  laughed. 

"  Well  done,  my  little  bantam  rooster,  give  us  another 
fling." 

The  boy's  face  flamed  red  under  the  insulting  laugh. 

"  I  am  only  a  little  boy ;  besides,  papa  says  gentlemen 
never  fight  with  their  fists,  so  if  I  were  a  man  it  would 
be  all  the  same — but  Jube  can  fight  like  you — he  knows 
how — yes,  I'll  call  Jube." 

"  Not  till  I've  knocked  all  the  infernal  pride  out  of 
your  little  body,"  exclaimed  Thrasher,  starting  up  and 
making  a  dash  at  the  boy. 

He  was  too  late.  The  little  fellow  had  cleared  the 
cabin  stairs  with  the  leap  of  a  fawn,  and  rushing  across 
the  deck  where  Jube  was  standing,  seized  him  by  the 
garments. 


64  THE     FLOGGING. 

"  Jube,  good  Jube,  you  can  fight — that  man  down- 
stairs wants  you — he  struck  me  here  on  my  face,  the 
very  spot  my  mother  kissed — with  his  hands  so — he 
struck  me." 

There  was  no  need  for  the  boy  to  say  this,  for  three 
blood  red  finger  marks  glowed  like  living  fire  across  his 
delicate  cheek. 

The  gladiator  broke  into  Jube's  eyes  as  he  saw  these 
marks.  His  hand  clenched  and  unclenched  itself,  and 
he  ground  his  white  teeth  in  ferocious  rage.  The  savage 
African  was  fully  aroused  in  him  then. 

"  Look,"  he  said,  towering  upward,  till  his  athletic 
person  was  revealed  in  all  its  powerful  proportions — 
"  look,  your  master  has  struck  my  master's  son — I'll  kill 
him !" 

"You  will,  ha!"  cried  the  loud  voice  of  Thrasher, 
who  had  followed  the  boy  on  deck.  "  You  will,  lump 
of  ebony,  will  you  ?  Well,  let's  begin  at  once.  I  say, 
Rice,  take  that  fellow  to  the  rigging,  and  give  him  a 
couple  of  dozen.  I'll  let  him  know  that  white  folks 
have  the  say  here." 

Jube  did  not  understand  this  order,  for  it  was  given 
in  English,  but  he  guessed  something  of  the  truth  when 
the  group  of  sailors,  that  had  stood  looking  on,  broke  up 
in  a  commotion,  and  two  of  the  strongest  came  toward 
him  menacingly. 

"  What  is  it,  tell  me — what  are  you  going  to  do  with 
Jube?"  inquired  the  boy,  going  up  to  Rice,  who,  with 
all  the  men  who  had  been  trading  to  St.  Domingo  for 
3^ears,  had  a  rude  knowledge  of  French. 

"  Go  away,  shaver,  get  down  below,  nobody  wants  to 
hurt  you,  and  if  they  did  I  wouldn't  let  'em  by  jingo  I 


THE     FLOGGING:  65 

but  the  nigger  there,  mutinied,  and  hell  have  to  catch 
it." 

"Don't,  don't  hurt  Jube,"  cried  the  boy  in  an  agony 
of  fear,  "  what  has  he  done  ?" 

"  He's  threatened  the  captain — that  is,  he's  threatened 
the  one  who  took  the  captain's  place,  and  that  'ere's 
mutiny  on  the  high  seas,  do  you  understand  ?" 

The  sailor  put  Paul  aside  as  he  gave  the  desired  in- 
formation, and  joined  his  comrade  who  had  seized 
upon  Jube,  who  inquired  fiercely  what  they  wanted 
with  him. 

"  Don't  stand  to  talk,  but  lash  the  nigger  up,  and 
give  him  an  extra  dozen  for  his  impudence !"  shouted 
the  captain;  "no  parley,  but  go  to  work." 

While  Jube  stood  half  at  bay,  doubtful  of  the  evil 
that  threatened  him,  the  two  sailors  sprang  upon  him, 
and  began  to  take  off  his  outer  garments,  while  half  a 
dozen  others  stood  ready  to  aid  them,  should  the  poor 
fellow  resist.  There  was  a  desperate  struggle,  but  it 
lasted  only  a  few  moments ;  great  as  Jube's  strength  was, 
it  proved  nothing  opposed  to  the  powerful  force  arrayed 
against  him.  In  a  few  moments  the  poor  fellow  stood 
with  his  bare  shoulders  glistening  in  the  sunshine,  and 
all  his  muscles  quivering  with  the  fierce  restraint  that 
had  been  put  upon  them.  Each  hand  was  manacled  by 
the  iron  gripe  of  his  captors,  who  were  stern  but  not 
mocking,  while  Thrasher,  who  looked  on  with  a  cold 
smile,  muttered : 

"  Yes,  my  fine  fellow,  we'll  teach  you  the  difference 
between  this  deck  and  Port  au  Prince — here  white  folks 
are  white  folks." 

Paul  stood  looking  on,  wild  with  terror.  "What 
4 


66  THEFLOGGING. 

were  they  doing  ?  Would  they  kill  Jube  before  his  eyes  ? 
Had  he  been  the  cause  of  this  ?" 

The  men  dragged  Jube  away,  heedless  of  his  broken 
cries.  With  them  a  punishment  at  the  rigging  was  no 
very  extraordinary  occasion,  and  when  exercised  on  a 
negro  was  not  altogether  a  disagreeable  excitement 
But  Rice,  more  merciful  than  the  rest,  came  back,  and 
attempted  to  persuade  the  child  away  from  the  deck, 
but  Thrasher  confronted  him  at  the  gangway,  and  or- 
dered him  back. 

"  Let  the  youngster  stay  and  see  the  fun ;  it'll  do  him 
good,"  he  said;  "if  he  keeps  up  that  whimpering  I'll 
give  him  a  dose,  too." 

Rice  stood  a  moment  with  something  of  revolt  in  his 
eyes,  but  seemed  to  think  the  question  not  worth  a 
quarrel,  and  slowly  retreated,  dragging  the  child  with 
him.  The  mate  did  not  deem  it  prudent,  perhaps,  to 
urge  the  seaman  too  far,  so  Rice  withdrew  to  the  re- 
motest part  of  the  deck,  and  lifting  the  child  in  his  arms, 
pretended  to  point  out  a  ship  which  he  persisted  was 
hovering  on  the  line  of  the  horizon. 

But  this  humane  ruse  was  of  no  avail.  With  the  little 
heart  quivering  in  his  bosom  like  a  wounded  bird,  and 
every  sense  awake  to  the  danger  of  his  friend,  Paul  was 
not  to  be  interested  in  any  thing.  His  white  face  was 
turned  anxiously  over  the  sailor's  shoulder,  and  he  lis- 
tened keenly. 

It  came  at  last,  a  sharp,  cutting  twang.  The  boy 
uttered  a  shriek,  and  struggling  from  the  sailor's  arms, 
fell  upon  the  floor,  shuddering  all  over.  Again,  again, 
and  again ;  harder,  fiercer,  and  with  a  biting  sharpness 
that  made  the  blood  curdle  in  that  young  heart,  the 
blows  fell,  then  a  cry,  shrill  with  agony. 


A     REBELLIOUS     SPIRIT.  67 

The  boy  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  breaking  away  from 
the  kind  hold  of  the  sailor,  went  staggering  across  the 
deck,  pale  and  wild,  stung  almost  to  death  with  the  pain 
of  those  lashes. 

The  captain  stood  near  the  masthead,  smoking  a 
cigar.  He  did  not  lose  a  single  puff — nay,  between  the 
lashes  he  would  sometimes  retain  the  smoke  with  his 
lips,  and  emit  it  enjoyingly,  as  the  blows  fell,  thus  keep- 
ing lazy  time  with  the  torture  he  was  inflicting. 

Half  blind,  almost  dead,  the  boy  came  toward  him,  and 
fell  at  his  feet,  clasping  his  hands  and  holding  them 
up  in  dumb,  pitiful  entreaty,  for  the  voice  was  dead 
within  him,  and  his  pale  lips  uttered  moans  instead 
of  words. 

"Ha!  you  have  come  to,  have  you?"  exclaimed  the 
mate,  taking  the  cigar  from  his  mouth,  and  winding  a 
loose  fragment  of  tobacco  leaf  around  it.  "  I  thought 
as  much.  Well,  never  mind,  the  music's  nearly  half 
over  now — then  your  turn  shall  come." 

Those  little  hands  dropped,  and  the  child  fell  forward 
on  his  face ;  a  faint  quiver  which  followed  each  crack 
of  the  lash  was  all  the  sign  of  life  he  gave. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

A    REBELLIOUS    SPIRIT. 

THE  threat  of  violence  which  Thrasher  uttered  against 
the  delicate  creature  at  his  feet,  might  have  been  only 
an  ebullition  of  his  dormant  hatred  of  the  boy — the  bit- 


68  A     REBELLIOUS     SPIRIT. 

terest  and  most  deadly  hatred  known  to  humanity — 
that  of  a  bad  man  for  the  object  he  has  wronged  ;  but 
wanton  or  earnest,  the  threat  had  its  effect,  for  Rice 
strode  to  Thrasher's  side,  and  bending  to  his  ear,  whis- 
pered. 

"  I  say,  captain,  we've  had  enough  of  this  ere,  I 
reckon.  Jest  order  the  men  to  unsling  that  nigger,  or 
I  will." 

Thrasher  took  the  cigar  from  his  mouth,  and  held  it 
smoking  between  his  fingers. 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  this,  Rice?"  he  said,  mildly, 
knocking  the  loose  ashes  away  with  his  little  finger,  as 
he  eyed  the  seaman  with  a  keen  side  glance. 

"  What  I  said  afore  ;  we've  had  enough  of  flogging  for 
one  day,  at  any  rate." 

"I'd  do  any  thing  to  oblige  you,  Rice,  be  sure  of 
that,  any  thing  but  give  up  my  authority  before  the 
men." 

"  The  men  don't  know  what  I'm  saying  to  you.  Any- 
way, jest  give  orders  for  'em  to  wait  till  we  understand 
one  another." 

The  mate  lifted  his  hand,  at  which  signal  the  man 
who  had  just  raised  the  lash,  which  was  growing  red 
and  wet  in  the  sunshine,  dropped  it  heavily.  The  thong 
fell  upon  the  deck,  leaving  a  crimson  trail  along  the 
white  boards,  while  its  holder  stood  panting  and  out  of 
breath  from  the  violence  of  his  exercise. 

"  Well  now,  Rice,  what  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ?" 
said  the  mate,  a  little  anxiously. 

"  It  don't  mean  nothing,  only  this,  captin — I  won't 
have  that  ere  nigger  struck  another  blow  in  this  child's 
hearin'.  As  for  the  nigger  hisself,  I  don't  care  a  quid 
of  tobaccer,  but  human  natur'  can't  stand  that  sight — at 


A     REBELLIOUS     SPIRIT.  69 

any  rate,  I  cant  and  won't — so  if  you  expect  me  to 
keep  a  close  jaw,  order  them  to  let  the  nigger  down  at 
once." 

"  Hush — speak  lower,  Rice.  You  see  I  must  keep  up 
my  authority.  You  can  understand  that.  I'd  give  the 
fellow  up  with  pleasure  to  please  you,  Rice ;  but  this  is 
the  first  punishment  on  board  since  I  came  into  the 
command." 

"  Since  you  came  into  the  command — -jest  so." 

"And  if  I  give  up  now,  it'll  be  all  day  with  my 
authority;  and  that'll  never  do." 

"  There's  something  in  that  ere,"  answered  Rice, 
with  an  uneasy  hitch  of  his  garments,  "  but  then  there 
mustn't  be  no  more  flogging  afore  this  little  chap,  no 
how.  I  don't  want  to  be  obstreperous  neither.  Sup- 
posing you  shut  the  fellow  up,  and  keep  him  on  bread 
and  water  a  few  days — I  shouldn't  mind  that." 

"  But,  he's  a  good  cook — we  can't  spare  him,  Rice." 

"  Must,"  answered  the  sailor. 

"  Must,"  repeated  the  the  mate,  with  a  gleam  in  his 
side  glance. 

"  Must,"  repeated  Rice,  settling  his  garments  afresh. 

The  mate  hesitated  awhile,  eyeing  the  sailor  askance, 
but  Rice  stood  solidly  on  the  deck,  looking  him  in  the 
face  as  if  certain  of  his  answer. 

"Very  well,  pass  the  order.  Remember,  I  let  off  a 
dozen  lashes,  and  give  him  irons,  with  bread  and  water, 
in  exchange.  Make  that  well  understood." 

"Aye,  aye,  never  you  fear,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"As  for  this  imp  of  Satan,"  said  the  mate,  spurning 
the  prostrate  boy  lightly  with  his  foot,  "  I'll  deal  with 
him." 

"  Don't  do  that,  Mr.  Thrasher ;  you've  struck  that  ere 


70  A     REBELLIOUS     SPIRIT. 

child  once  too  often.  Try  it  agin,  and  there  ain't  a  man 
on  board  this  'ere  brig  as  won't  rise  agin  you." 

"  Indeed  1"  said  Thrasher,  closing  his  teeth  hard,  "and 
you " 

"  I'll  head  'em,  and  take  you  home  in  irons." 

Thrasher  turned  a  dull  white,  and,  for  an  instant,  a 
Bound  as  if  his  teeth  were  beginning  to  chatter,  came 
faintly  through  his  lips,  but  he  turned  it  off  with  a  laugh. 

"  Hang  me  if  I  care  what  you  do  with  the  fellow  or 
the  boy.  I  only  wish  we  had  left  them  behind ;  that 
would  have  settled  it  once  for  all." 

"But  seeing  as  they're  here,  I  won't  stand  by  and 
have  'em  murdered  outright." 

"  Well,  well,  as  you  like ;  it  won't  pay  for  us  to  quar- 
rel, Rice." 

"  Enough  said,  captain." 

"Now  I'll  go  down  and  finish  my  breakfast,"  said 
Thrasher,  tossing  the  end  of  his  cigar  overboard. 
"  Confounded  coffee  the  fellow  sent  down ;  that  was 
what  commenced  the  row,  I  believe  ;  but  I'll  try  another 
cup." 

"Aye,  aye,  better  go  down  and  leave  the  rest  to  me," 
said  Rice,  stooping  tenderly  over  the  boy.  "  Come, 
get  up,  my  little  chap ;  it's  all  over !  No  use  wilting 
down  in  this  way!  poor  fellow,  poor  fellow,  how  he 
shakes  1" 

The  child,  who  had  been  lying  with  a  hand  pressed 
hard  over  each  ear,  lifted  his  head,  and  turned  his  white 
face  on  the  seaman. 

"  Is  it  over  ?  Have  they  killed  him  ?  Oh !  Jube, 
Jube!" 

This  pathetic  cry  reached  the  unhappy  man,  who  had 
just  been  taken  down  from  his  place  of  torture.  With 


A     KEBELLIOUS     SPIRIT.  71 

his  helpless  hands  hanging  loose,  and  the  red  drops 
falling  from  his  shoulders,  he  came  reeling  across  the 
deck,  and  lay  down  by  the  boy,  like  a  great  Newfound- 
land dog  wounded  unto  death. 

Paul  received  him  with  a  gush  of  tears.  He  took  the 
handkerchief  of  delicate  cambric  from  his  bosom,  where 
it  had  rested  sacred  till  then,  for  his  mother  had  placed 
it  there,  and  tenderly  wiped  the  drops  of  agony  that 
still  hung  on  Jube's  brow.  The  poor  negro,  always 
treated  with  gentle  household  kindness  till  then,  moaned 
aloud,  not  with  the  pain — he  was  brave  enough,  poor 
fellow — but  from  a  sense  of  the  desolation  that  had  fallen 
on  his  master's  son. 

"  Oh,  young  master,  young  master,  who  will  help  you 
now  when  Jube  has  only  the  power  of  a  dog  left  ?  never 
'till  now,  never  'till  now,  was  Jube  striped  with  a  whip ! 
What  will  become  of  him?  He  had  nothing  but  his 
strength,  and  they  have  taken  that !" 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Rice,  "  it  isn't  all  over  yet,  by  a 
long  shot." 

The  negro  looked  up  with  his  heavy,  bloodshot  eyes, 
in  which  there  was  a  gleam  of  patient  heroism  that 
touched  the  sailor  greatly,  while  the  boy  grew  faint  and 
gasped  for  breath. 

"  Don't,  don't,"  pleaded  Rice,  patting  the  boy  gently 
with  his  rough  hand.  "As  for  you,  cuffy,  keep  a  stiff 
upper  lip.  I'm  to  put  you  in  the  hold,  and  feed  you  on 
bread  and  water ;  but  I'll  see  that  the  handcuffs  ain't  too 
tight,  and  as  for  the  grub,  why  some  of  us  chaps  will  go 
on  half  rations  to  give  you  a  meal  now  and  then." 

"  I  don't  care  about  the  place  you  put  me  in,"  said 
Jube,  mournfully,  "  or  what  they  feed  me  on.  If  they 
chain  mo  down  hands  and  feet  I  won't  say  one  word ; 
but  the  little  master,  what  will  they  do  with  him?" 


72  A     REBELLIOUS     SPIRIT. 

"Never  you  mind  about  that,  caffy ;  I'll  see  to  him. 
He  shall  have  enough  to  eat,  any  how." 

"  But  that  man — he'll  strike  poor  little  master  again, 
and  Jube  chained  down  in  the  bottom  of  the  ship." 

The  great  tears  rolled  over  Jube's  face  as  he  said  this, 
and  he  shook  violently. 

"No,"  said  Rice,  with  an  honest  sailor's  oath,  which 
was  profane  in  its  language,  but  noble  in  its  meaning, 
"  the  captain  shan't  touch  him  agin,  I  give  you  my  hand 
on  it." 

Jube  took  the  rough  hand  in  his  trembling  grasp  and 
kissed  it  gratefully. 

"  Take  me  down,  Mr.  Captain,  take  me  down ;  get  out 
the  irons  ;  bring  on  the  bread  and  water ;  you'll  see  that 
Jube  will  wear  'em,  and  sing  like  a  bird,  so  long  as 
you  take  care  of  him." 

"  That's  hearty  now,"  cried  Rice,  pleased  to  the 
depth  of  his  really  kind  heart.  "  Just  give  up,  and  it'll 
be  all  the  easier.  I've  had  the  bracelets  on  in  my  puppy 
days,  over  and  agin.  It  aint  nothing." 

"  I'm  ready,"  answered  Jube,  making  a  brave  effort 
to  smile,  and  staggering  to  his  feet,  where  he  stood 
shaking  all  over  from  the  shock  of  pain  that  had  been 
given  to  his  whole  system.  "  I'm  ready.  Good-by,  little 
master." 

"  Paul  set  up  on  the  deck,  and  lifted  his  hands  piti- 
fully, while  his  pale,  cramped  features  began  to  quiver 
with  coming  tears. 

"  Botheration,  'taint  nothing.  I'll  smuggle  the  little 
craft  down  to  see  you  every  day,  if  not  oftener.  Do 
you  hear  that,  shaver?" 

Tears  swelled  into  the  boy's  eyes,  and  he  covered 
them  with  liis  hands,  moaning  painfully. 


A     REBELLIOUS     SPIRIT.  73 

Rice  was  a  good  deal  troubled  that  his  efforts  at  con- 
solation had  so  little  effect,  but  all  at  once  his  face 
brightened,  and  thrusting  a  hand  deep  into  the  pocket 
of  his  trowsers,  he  brought  forth  a  huge  jackknife,  and 
opened  it  temptingly. 

"  Look  a  here,  little  whipper-snapper,  just  look  a  here, 
no  doubt  about  it,  I'm  a  going  to  give  you  this  very 
identical  knife,  I  am,  sure  as  a  gun." 

The  boy  took  his  hands  away,  and  gazed  wonder- 
ingly  at  the  great,  buck-horn  handle,  and  the  hooked 
blade,  to  which  tiny  fragments  of  plug  tobacco  clung 
lovingly. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  closing  the  blade  with  a  jerk. 
"  I  thought  you'd  be  surprised.  Isn't  it  a  sneezer  ? 
Where's  your  pocket?" 

As  Rice  thrust  the  knife  into  the  silken  lined  pocket 
of  Paul's  dress,  the  boy  looked  downward  with  vague 
interest;  but,  all  at  once,  his  face  brightened.  He 
snatched  at  the  knife  eagerly,  and  tried  to  open  it. 

"  It's  rather  stiff,  I  reckon,  for  them  little  fingers," 
said  Rice,  opening  the  knife  again;  "but,  never  you 
mind,  I'll  drop  a  little  lamp  ile  on  the  jint,  and  it'll  open 
easy  as  whistling,  it  will." 

"  Is  it  strong — is  it  sharp  ?"  cried  the  boy,  touching 
the  hooked  blade  with  his  delicate  fingers.  "  Would  it 
kill  a  man  ?" 

"  Why,  Lord  love  yer  eyes,  yes !  Jest  turn  the  pint 
upwards,  and  it'd  rip  its  way  like  blazes.  But  what  der 
ye  ask  that  for  ?" 

"  Jube,"  said  the  boy,  in  sad,  earnest  tones,  holding 
up  the  knife,  "if  he  strikes  me  again,  and  you  are  by, 
just  take  this  and  kill  me  at  his  feet.  I'd  rather  die  a 
thousand  times  than  live  to  see  you  whipped  for  my 
sake." 


74  A     R  E  B  E  L  L  I  0  U  S     SPIRIT. 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  said  Jube,  with  a  gleam  of  his  old 
African  ferocity.  "I'll  use  it,  but  not  on  you,  little 
master — not  on  you  1" 

"  Look  a  here,"  said  Rice,  hitching  about  uneasily  in 
his  clothes.  "  You  jest  let  the  boy's  knife  alone,  will 
ye  ?  I  guv  it  to  him  for  a  plaything,  and  it's  hisen,  not 
yourn.  Do  ye  want  to  be  slung  up  again  ?  Here  comes 
the  captin — now  up  with  ye,  for  I  must  be  cross  as 
blazes,  or  he'll  think  we're  confabulating  something 
against  him.  Come,  look  sharp,  nigger,  I  can't  wait 
here  all  day  for  you  to  snivel  over  a  flogging  as  you 
ought  to  be  grateful  for,  'cause  you  arned  it."  To  this 
Rice  added,  in  a  low  tone :  "  Look  scared,  as  if  I  had 
been  a  worrying  you  tooth  and  nail,  or  he  won't  trust 
you  with  me."  Then  raising  his  voice,  he  went  on 
abusing  poor  Jube,  till  the  mate  came  forward  with  a 
smile  upon  his  face. 

"  That's  right,  my  good  fellow,  take  him  down.  He'll 
be  an  example  for  the  men.  They're  beginning  to  want 
one.  Off  with  him — plenty  of  irons,  and  don't  be  too 
particular  about  the  bread  or  the  water  either." 

"Aye,  aye,  I'll  see  to  him,"  cried  Rice,  ferociously. 
"  Come,  march,  tramp — off  with  you,  cuffy !  You  never 
seed  sich  a  pair  of  bracelets  as  I've  got  for  ye  down 
below." 

Jube  kept  his  eyes  bent  to  the  deck,  that  no  one 
might  mark  the  ferocious  hate  that  burned  in  them — . 
hate  that  re-strung  his  nerves,  and  made  them  tough  as 
iron. 

"  You'll  learn  to  threaten  me !"  said  the  captain, 
scoffing  at  the  negro,  as  he  passed. 

Jube  did  not  lift  his  eyes,  but  passed  on.  Paul  arose 
and  followed. 


A     REBELLIOUS     SPIRIT.  75 

"  Hallo  !  what  is  the  youngster  after  ?"  cried  Thrasher. 

"I  want  to  go  with  Jube,"  said  the  boy,  shuddering 
under  the  captain's  eye. 

"You  want  to  go  with  Jube,  ha  I"  cried  the  mate, 
mocking  the  gentle  tones,  which  might  have  won  pity 
from  a  Nero.  "  Well,  you  won't  go  with  Jube,  do  you 
hear  that  ?  I  aint  likely  to  give  up  cook  and  cabin-boy, 
too,  so  just  march  for  the  caboose." 

Rice  turned  back,  leaving  Jube  near  the  gangway. 
"  Look  a  here,  captain,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
<(  Don't  put  upon  that  little  shaver  so !  It's  too  bad ; 
he's  a  peaked  child,  just  out  of  his  mother's  lap,  and 
this  ere  sort  of  work  will  kill  him  sure  as  a  gun." 

"Well,  if  it  does,  Rice,  what's  the  loss?" 

"Wai,  it'd  be  a  good  deal  to  me,  anyhow.  I've  sort 
a  took  a  shine  to  the  boy." 

"  That's  unfortunate,"  sneered  the  mate,  "  because  I, 
being  commander  here,  have  just  done  the  other  thing." 

"  Hate  him  like  pison — I  knowed  it  from  the  first." 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"  Nothing — only  as  I've  took  a  notion  to  him,  and  he 
kinder  likes  me,  supposing  you  jest  give  in  a  trifle,  and 
let  the  chap  alone.  I  shall  be  much  obleeged  to  you  if 
you  will." 

Thrasher  turned  on  his  heel,  saying,  with  assumed 
carelessness,  for  he  did  not  like  the  gleam  of  those  gray 
eyes,  "Well,  well,  we'll  talk  about  that  another  time." 

"  Aye,  aye,"  responded  the  sailor,  with  a  nod  of  the 
head,  which  had  a  meaning  in  it  that  Thrasher  did  not 
like. 


76  THE     BOX     OF     JEWELS. 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE   BOX    OP    JEWELS. 

"I'LL  have  an  end  of  this,"  said  Thrasher,  as  he  went 
into  the  cabin  restless  and  anxious.  Throwing  himself 
on  the  locker,  he  began  muttering  to  himself.  "  As  for 
keeping  this  child  to  hang  around  my  neck  like  a  mill- 
stone, I  never  will.  He's  old  enough  to  remember  every 
thing ;  and  if  the  negro  tells  tales  he'll  be  sure  to  cher- 
ish them.  What  possesses  Rice  to  rise  up  against  me 
in  this  way  ?  If  he'd  been  quiet,  I'd  have  had  'em  both 
under  water  before  half  the  voyage  was  over." 

Thrasher  lay  awhile  revolving  these  thoughts  in  his 
mind,  without  arriving  at  any  satisfactory  conclusion. 
At  last,  a  new  anxiety  seized  upon  him  ;  he  started  up, 
and  went  to  the  closet  set  into  the  wall,  in  which  he  had 
seen  Captain  Mason  secure  the  box  of  jewels  that  Jube 
had  placed  in  his  keeping. 

"  It's  fortunate  I  secured  this,"  he  muttered,  taking  a 
key  from  his  vest  pocket,  and  fitting  it  into  the  lock. 
"  He  didn't  know  I  was  on  the  watch,  careful  as  he  was. 
Ha,  it's  all  here !  and  that  nigger  knows  it  as  well  as  I 
do.  He'll  tell,  and  then  Rice  '11  take  another  hitch  in 
the  eternal  rope  that's  being  knotted  around  me.  I 
would  give  any  thing  to  know  exactly  what  the  fellow 
is  at,  but  I  won't  ask  questions,  that's  against  my  prin- 
ciples ;  they  let  out  too  much." 

As  he  spoke,  Thrasher  sat  down,  placed  the  bronze 
box  on  his  knee,  and  forced  the  lid  open.  Just  as  we 
have  seen  them  before,  the  jewels  lay  huddled  together, 


THE     BOX     OF     JEWELS.  77 

without  cushions  or  caskets  ;  but,  here  and  there,  a  frag- 
ment of  crimson  or  white  satin  clung  to  them  as  if  they 
had  been  torn  away  from  their  cases  in  wild  haste. 

"  Now,  I  dare  say,  this  is  worth  lots  of  money,  if  one 
only  knew  about  it,"  he  said,  taking  up  a  necklace, 
formed  in  links  of  large,  oblong  opals,  with  rainbows 
breaking  in  fragments  from  their  hearts,  and  rivulets  of 
diamonds  running  around  them.  "  How  it  glitters ! 
This  would  be  pretty  for  her.  I  wonder  if  she'd  take 
it  from  me  now  ?  or  warn  me  off  as  she  did  that  evening  ? 
Well,  I  don't  know  about  that — a  poor  wretch,  with 
nothing  but  his  good  looks,  and  so  on,  to  recommend 
him,  is  another  thing  from  a  fellow  that  can  come  to  a 
woman  with  both  hands  full  of  yellow  gold  and  such 
things  as  this.  Wouldn't  they  blaze  on  that  white  neck  1 
— such  a  neck,  with  shoulders  that  dimple  like  a  baby's 
hand  I  I  saw  them  once  when  she  was  dressed  to  go 
out  with  him.  She  little  thought  I  was  under  the  win- 
dow, and  that  a  corner  of  the  paper  curtain  was  turned 
up,  just  leaving  a  peep-hole.  How  softly  the  white 
dress  was  folded  over  her  bosom.  Lord,  how  my  heart 
went  down  as  she  put  on  that  lace  cape,  and  fastened  it 
with  a  wild  rose  that  he  had  given  her  before  my  very 
face !  No  wonder  I  hated  him !  there  isn't  a  man  on 
earth  that  could  have  helped  it.  Handsome — was  he 
really  handsomer  than  I  ?  did  she  love  him  so  very 
much  ?  Oh,  how  it  blazes !  These  are  real  diamonds, 
no  mistake  about  that.  How  the  light  rains  from  them ! 
Oh,  how  I'd  like  to  see  it  flashing  on  her  neck,  just  as  it 
was  then,  with  two  or  three  of  these  things  in  her  yellow 
curls.  Women  like  these  gew-gaws  ;  and  she's  fond  of 
pretty  things — like  a  child  about  them ;  besides,  she'll 
be  poor  enough  before  I  get  home,  she  and  the  child — 
his  child." 


78  THE     BOX     OF     JEWELS. 

He  crushed  the  necklace  in  his  hand,  as  the  image  of- 
a  pretty,  fair  haired  baby  girl  'rose  before  him,  and 
crowded  it  fiercely  down  into  the  box.  "  She'd  be  want- 
ing some  of  them  for  her,  I  dare  say.  Well,  perhaps 
that  woman  could  do  any  thing  with  me ;  in  fact,  when 
I  first  knew  her,  any  kind  woman,  from  my  mother 
down,  would  mould  me  as  she  liked,  I  was  wax  then ; 
but  after  she  married  him — well,  it's  no  use  thinking 
what  one  has  been,  or  how  much  better  things  might 
have  turned  out ;  there's  iron  enough  in  me  now.  Still, 
I  loved  her  then  well  enough  to  go  mad  and  run  away 
from  all  that  ever  cared  for  me.  I  might  have  been  a 
gentleman ;  the  old  folks  educated  me  well  enough  for 
that  or  any  thing  else,  but  she  drove  me  out  before  the 
mast.  Storms  and  hardships  was  what  I  wanted  ;  I  got 
enough  of  it  in  the  end.  It  made  me  tough  and  hard 
as  the  rocks  we  sometimes  narrowly  escaped.  Cruel, 
too — every  one  says  that — but  I  could  be  kind  to  her 
and  the  little  girl,  perhaps,  if  the  mother  loved  me.  If 
not,  oh,  how  I  should  hate  the  blue-C3red  imp." 

These  thoughts  seemed  to  excite  the  man  bej^ond 
anything  that  persons  knowing  his  stern  character  would 
have  believed.  His  hands  clutched  and  unclutched 
themselves  in  the  jewels,  his  lips  quivered,  and  alternate 
gleams  of  fire  and  clouds  of  mist  chased  each  other  in 
his  e}res.  He  started  up,  thrust  the  box  back  to  its 
closet,  forgetting  the  fears  that  had  urged  him  to  seek 
for  it,  and  putting  the  key  back  into  his  pocket  went  on 
deck.  The  first  sharp  gust  of  wind  that  swept  his  face 
carried  off  these  feverish  thoughts  and  he  grew  hard  as 
rock  again. 

Paul  was  on  deck,  crouching  down  among  the  barrels 
and  bales  of  merchandise  that  offered  him  friendly  con- 


THE     BOX     OP     JEWELS.  79 

cealmcnt.  Wretched  and  heart-broken,  the  child 
watched  for  Rice.  When  he  saw  Thrasher,  fear  made 
him  shrink  together  and  hold  his  breath  as,if  some  wild 
beast  were  creeping  along  his  path.  After  a  little,  the 
mate  went  down  again  and  Rice  appeared. 

The  boy  crept  from  his  hiding-place  and  came  up  to 
the  sailor. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  him?  please  tell  me." 

"  Oh,  here  you  are,  as  large  as  life,"  said  Rice,  who 
had  missed  Paul  from  the  deck,  and  felt  some  relief  at 
finding  him  alone  and  so  quiet.  "  Done  with  him  ?  why 
cleared  out  a  snug  harbor  in  the  hold,  and  anchored  him 
safe  and  sound.  Come  along,  if  you  want  to  see." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,  I  want  it  so  much.     Is  it  dark  ?" 

"Rayther,  I  should  think." 

"  May  I  hold  your  hand  ?" 

"Aye,  aye,  come  along  afore  the  captain  knocks  us  all 
aback." 

"  Who  goes  there,"  cried  out  a  voice  from  the  cabin 
stairs. 

"  Nobody  but  Rice  and  this  'ere  little  shaver,"  an- 
swered Rice,  facing  round  to  meet  Thrasher. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  him  ?" 

"Nowhere  just  now — he  wants  to  take  a  look  out." 

"  Very  well — pass  on." 

Thrasher  went  down  to  the  cabin  again ;  he  had  seen 
Rice  as  he  led  the  boy  across  the  deck,  and  understood 
the  opposition  which  was  going  on  to  his  wishes.  The 
train  of  thought  that  had  seized  him  while  examining 
the  jewels  had  not  entirely  passed  away,  but  with  it 
came  others  appealing  to  his  worst  passions,  and  ming- 
ling themselves,  as  evil  things  sometimes  will,  with  much 
that  was  tender  and  pure  in  the  man's  nature.  He  was 


80  THE     BOX     OF     JEWELS. 

not  all  bad — what  human  being  is  ? — but  he  was  a  strong 
man,  and  used  his  evil  strength  without  scruple  to  se- 
cure the  love,  which  was,  in  truth,  wounding  him  daily 
with  its  hungry  cries. 

Thrasher  was  afraid  of  Rice,  and  with  him  fear  was 
an  incentive  to  action.  Jube  and  the  boy  Paul  were  also 
sources  of  great  anxiety.  They  might  interfere  with 
his  one  great  hope,  and  utterly  destroy  the  brilliant  fu- 
ture that  lay  so  temptingly  before  him.  All  this  was 
food  for  thought,  and  made  him  more  than  usually 
morose. 

The  sensitive  nature  of  the  boy  Paul  had  suffered 
acutely  by  the  indignity  that  had  been  put  upon  him, 
and  still  more  by  the  awful  scene  of  Jube's  punishment. 
But  there  was  a  noble  spirit  in  that  little  frame,  and 
though  he  shrank  from  encountering  his  enemy,  it  was 
not  from  a  cowardly  feeling,  but  as  a  brave  man  may 
evade  a  wild  beast  that  possesses  a  hundred-fold  of  his 
own  physical  powers.  No  amount  of  punishment  would 
have  induced  the  child  to  submit  meanly ;  but  he  was  a 
creature  of  exquisite  refinement,  and  had,  all  his  little 
life,  been  shielded  from  the  first  approach  of  sorrow. 
Within  the  last  few  weeks,  he  had  been  cast  headlong 
into  the  boiling  vortex  of  the  most  terrible  scenes  that 
ever  disgraced  humanity — scenes  that  drove  many  a 
stout  man  insane,  and  left  a  whole  population  at  the 
mercy  of  savage,  maddened  slaves.  He,  a  young,  sensi- 
tive child,  brought  up  in  luxury,  shielded  from  the  very 
breath  of  a  flower  if  it  was  not  grateful  to  his  fine  sense — 
loved  by  his  parents — idolized  by  a  host  of  servants — 
had  struggled  through  death,  and  horrors  sharper  than 
death,  to  find  himself  worse  off  a  thousand  times  on 
board  that  brig,  than  any  of  his  father's  slaves  had  ever 
been. 


CHAINED     IN     THE     HOLD.  81 

And  now  his  only  friend  was  torn  away,  and  cast  into 
the  black  depths  of  the  hold,  smarting  with  pain,  writh- 
ing under  the  ignominy  of  a  first  blow,  and  chained  hand 
and  foot  like  a  mad  dog.  If  little  Paul  had  known  that 
the  captain  would  kill  him,  I  think  he  might  have  found 
his  way  to  that  poor  friend. 

At  last  they  were  together,  down  in  the  bla,ck  hollows 
of  the  ship,  with  scarcely  a  breath  of  air,  and  surrounded 
by  a  host  of  uncouth  objects,  which  appalled  them  like 
the  walls  of  a  prison.  They  had  no  light,  and  the  rush 
and  gurgle  of  the  waves  sounded  horribly  distinct. 
Jube  held  up  bravely  after  his  little  master  came  to  bear 
him  company.  No  groan  escaped  his  lips,  but  he  in- 
sisted on  sitting  up,  and  made  Paul  nestle  close  to  him, 
striving  to  soothe  and  comfort  the  child,  spite  of  his 
own  keen  suffering. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CHAINED   IN   THE   HOLD. 

CHAINED  in  the  hold,  drifting  away — it  was  only  after 
dark  that  Paul  could  visit  his  friend  without  fear  of  de- 
tection. On  the  third  night,  they  were  together  in  the 
hold.  Thrasher  himself  had  been  down  just  before,  and 
finding  Jube  without  irons,  had  riveted  them  on  his 
limbs  with  his  own  hands,  so  the  poor  fellow  was  bowed 
down  with  the  weight  of  his  chains,  and  could  not  even 
hold  the  child  to  his  bosom  when  he  came  to  share  his 
solitude. 

It  was  very  dark,  and  Paul  was  compelled  to  feel  his 
5 


82  CHAINED     IN     THE     HOLD. 

way  through  the  freight  heaped  up  on  each  side  the 
place  where  Jube  was  confined. 

"  Jube,  Jube !  do  you  hear?"  he  called  out,  in  a  fright- 
ened voice.. 

Jube  lay  still,  for  he  was  afraid  of  frightening  the  boy 
by  the  clank  of  his  chains,  but  he  called  out  softly, 
"  Yes,  little  master,  here  I  am,  just  here,  don't  hurt 
yourself  against  the  boxes." 

"  Can't  you  come  and  help  me,  Jube ;  it's  dark  as  mid- 
night." 

"Well,  little  master,  it  ain't  just  convenient  this 
minute ;  but  if  j'ou'll  listen  while  I  talk,  and  come  by  the 
sound,  it'll  bring  you  right  straight  to  Jube." 

"Yes — yes,  I  hear;  keep  speaking,  Jube,  but  not  too 
loud.  What  a  noise  the  water  makes  to-night,  and  the 
ship  pitches  so  I  can  hardly  stand.  Oh,  here  you  are, 
dear  Jube ;  just  hold  out  your  hands,  to  steady  me. 
What's  that  ?" 

"  Only  the  handcuffs  ;  but  don't  you  mind,  they  don't 
amount  to  much  after  all — screwed  a  little  tight — but 
not  unpleasant,  if  it  wasn't  for  that." 

"  Chained  you — chained  you  !"  said  the  boy,  in  a  voice 
of  such  keen  anguish  that  Jube  forced  a  little,  hoarse 
laugh,  in  order  to  convince  him  that  being  chained  hand 
and  foot,  in  the  black  hold  of  a  vessel,  was  rather  a  re- 
freshing amusement  than  otherwise.  "Why,  it  ain't 
nothing,  little  master,  just  see  here  !" 

He  tried  to  lift  his  hands,  but  the  iron  galled  his 
wrists,  and  forced  a  groan  from  his  brave  heart. 

"  Oh,  Jube,  Jube,  they  will  murder  you !" 

"Not  they — why  it's  nothing." 

"  Let  me  help  you  hold  the  irons  up,  they  drag  on 
your  poor  hands — there,  does  that  make  them  lighter  ?" 


CHAINED     IN     THE     HOLD.  83 

"A  good  deal,  little  master ;  every  thing  is  light  when 
you  come  to  se* .Tube." 

The  gentle  boy  had  knelt  down  in  the  darkness,  and 
was  striving  to  hold  up  the  chains  that  dragged  in  rusty 
links  from  the  poor  fellow's  hands. 

"Are  you  hungry,  Jube  ?" 

"  No,  not  at  all,  little  master ;  had  a  splendid  dinner 
just  now." 

The  poor  fellow  had  just  eaten  half  a  cake  of  hard 
sea  bread  soaked  in  water. 

"  Because  I've  saved  my  dinner,"  said  the  child,  "  and 
we'll  eat  it  together." 

"  Oh,  little  master,  there  never  was  but  one  angel  like 
you  that  ever  I  saw." 

"  Mamma !"  said  Paul,  softly,  "  you  mean  her,  I  know." 

"Yes;  who  else?" 

"  I  shall  never  be  beautiful  and  kind  like  her,  Jube — 
never  I  but,  when  she  finds  us,  you  will  tell  her  how  I 
have  tried  to  be  good  and  patient,  Jube  ?" 

"Yes,  little  master." 

"How  mournfully  you  say  that.  Are  you  crying, 
Jube?" 

"  Crying  ?  no,  no  ;  don't  you  hear  how  I  laugh  ?" 

"  That's  worse  yet ;  the  chains  are  breaking  your 
heart,  Jube." 

"No,  I  like  'em;  they're  a  sort  of  company." 

"  Company!" 

"  Yes ;  when  I'm  all  alone  in  the  daytime,  you  know, 
,1  can  jingle  tunes  with  'em." 

"  It's  awful  music,  Jube ;  my  heart  trembles  when  I 
hear  it.  Besides,  I  cannot  get  close  to  you,  the  iron 
keeps  me  off." 

"  Just  creep  up  to  this  side,  little  master,  and  lean 
against  my  shoulder ;  the  feel  of  you  gives  me  heart." 


B4  CHAINED     IN     THE     HOLD. 

Paul  crept  close  to  his  friend,  and  pissed  one  arm 
over  his  chest  as  his  cheek  rested  on  the%houlder  turned 
lovingly  for  its  reception. 

"  How  the  water  beats  and  roars,"  said  Paul,  clinging 
close  to  his  friend  ;  "it  sounds  like  that  night." 

"Yes,  I've  been  listening  to  it  all  day;  sometimes  it 
seems  close,  too,  as  if  it  would  leap  in  and  tear  me  to 
pieces ;  but  that  is  when  you  are  not  here." 

"  How  it  moans,  Jube  I" 

"  Don't  tremble,  little  master,  it's  only  the  water,  and 
that  isn't  cruel  like  men." 

"  Hallo,  here,  havn't  you  a  voice,  cuffy  ?  Here's  some 
prog,  and  I've  brought  something  to  rig  np  a  light  that 
you  can  see  to  eat  by." 

It  was  Rice,  with  a  tin  basin  in  his  hand  half  full  of 
lard,  in  which  a  twist  of  cotton  lay  coiled  like  a  serpent. 

"  There,  just  wait  till  I  set  this  down  shipshape,  and 
you  shall  see  what  I've  got;  some  boiled  beef  and  lash- 
ings of  grog;  havn't  wet  my  whistle  to-day.  Hallo, 
cuffy,  what's  this — a  cargo  of  iron  on  board ! — who  did 
that  ere?" 

"  He  did  it,"  said  Jube,  while  Paul  lifted  his  head; 
with  hope  in  his  eyes. 

"He  did  it,  did  he !"  Here  the  sailor  emitted  half  a 
dozen  heavy  oaths,  in  broad  English,  which  neither  the 
boy  nor  Jube  understood.  "  Just  give  us  hold  here ;  if 
I  don't  smash  every  link  on  'em  afore  ten  minutes  is 
over,  call  me  a  land  lubber  that's  afraid  of  his  mammy. 
Hold  out  them  hands,  blackball.  By  jingo  !  can't  do  it 
without  a  hammer.  Yes,  this'll  do ;  smash,  here  it  goes ! 
You  like  that  music,  my  little  commodore,  does  ye  ? 
Now  out  with  yer  feet,  blackball,  and  when  the  captain 
comes,  tell  him  I  did  it." 


CHAINED     IN     THE     HOLD.  85 

Jube,  who  had  been  painfully  cramped  for  hours,  stood 
up  and  stretched  himself,  as  the  irons  fell  with  a  clank 
to  his  feet. 

"  It  seems  kind  o'  refreshing,  I  reckon,"  said  Rice, 
bringing  one  keg  forward,  on  which  he  placed  his  light, 
and  another  which  was  to  serve  as  a  table.  "  Where's 
that  jackknife,  whipper-snapper  ?  Out  with  it,  and  cut 
up  the  grub.  Set  to,  cuffy.  Glory !  how  the  ship  rolls 
and  pitches !  We'll  have  work  afore  morning.  The  fel- 
low will  crowd  all  sail ;  he'll  fetch  the  brig  into  the  mid- 
dle of  next  week  at  this  rate.  Never  mind ;  set  to,  all 
hands,  we  may  as  well  go  to  Davy  Jones'  locker  with  a 
full  cargo  on  the  stomach  as  with  empty  lockers." 

Jube  was  nearly  famished,  notwithstanding  his  boasted 
dinner,  and  he  accepted  this  hearty  invitation  with  zest. 
Paul  tasted  a  few  mouthfuls  of  the  food,  but  with  strange 
hesitation,  as  if  he  were  putting  some  restraint  on  his 
appetite.  His  own  little  store  of  provisions  remained 
untasted,  and  he  made  no  effort  to  bring  it  forth. 

"  Why  don't  you  stow  away  ?"  asked  Rice,  cutting  a 
lump  of  beef  in  two  and  splicing  it,  as  he  observed,  to  a 
piece  of  bread.  "  What  are  you  afeared  of?" 

"  I — I'd  like  to  save  a  little,  if  you  please,"  said  Paul, 
timidly. 

"  Save  a  little  I  why,  what's  the  use  ?  There's  plenty 
on  board ;  I  can  get  a  double  allowance  any  time." 

"  You  can,  and  will  you  ?"  cried  the  boy,  eagerly. 

"  Why,  yes,  but  what  for  ?" 

"  We  may  want  it,  who  knows  ?  The  captain  may  for- 
bid you  to  come  here,  and  then  Jube  would  starve." 

"  Well,  that's  sensible.  It  ain't  likely  to  happen,  but 
then  there's  no  harm  in  a  full  locker.  I'll  bring  down 
a  bag  of  bread  this  minute  if  he's  in  the  cabin — then 


86  CHAINED     IN     THE     HOLD. 

there's  plenty  of  oranges  in  the  cargo  ;  if  you  come  to 
hunger,  cuffy,  you  can  stave  in  a  box,  and  hide  the 
boards.  Now  fall  to,  youngster.  There's  no  fear  of  a 
famine. " 

The  boy  was  very  hungry,  but  it  made  him  faint, 
rather  than  eager.  Something  seemed  to  excite  him  ; 
perhaps  it  was  the  gathering  storm,  through  which  the 
brig  labored  heavily.  Perhaps  he  had  some  vague,  child- 
ish hope,  scarcely  understood  by  himself;  certainly  his 
eyes  had  never  shone  so  brightly  before.  His  face  was 
that  of  a  young  hero  preparing  for  battle. 

The  brig  plunged  and  reeled  more  and  more.  Her 
timbers  began  to  strain  and  creak ;  the  waves  leaped 
and  howled  against  her  sides  like  charges  of  cavalry  in 
fierce  action.  The  roar  and  boom  of  the  storm  was 
terrible. 

The  two  men  who  sat  together  in  the  dim  light,  float- 
ing upon  the  basin  near  by,  looked  at  each  other.  The 
negro's  face  was  ashen  gray ;  the  sailor  lost  his  ruddy 
color ;  but  the  boy's  eyes  grew  bright  as  stars. 

"  It's  on  us — it's  on  us — and  every  stitch  of  canvas 
out !"  cried  Rice.  "  I  knew  he  was  acting  like  a  fool, 
but  didn't  expect  this.  Splurge  1  heave  !  Crack — crack ! 
Jerusalem  !  there  goes  the  mainsail!  Aye,  aye." 

The  hoarse  call  of  a  trumpet  rang  through  every  cor- 
ner of  the  brig. 

"All  hands  on  deck  1" 

"Aye,  aye !"  shouted  Rice,  kindling  to  his  work ; 
"  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  cuffy,  and  cheer  the  boy,  for  we 
are  just  as  near  Davy's  Locker  as  any  of  us  ever  will 
be  again !" 

They  saw  him  plunge  onward  through  the  reeling 
freight,  and  he  was  gone.  The  poor  negro  and  the 


CHAINED     IN     THE     HOLD.  87 

child  were  left  alone,  not  quite  in  darkness,  for  the  cot- 
ton wick  still  shimmered  fitfully,  and  made  the  black- 
ness beyond  its  little  pale  circle  more  dismal  than  ever. 
It  seemed  just  enough  of  light  to  see  each  other  perish 
by,  and  that  was  all. 

Louder  and  fiercer  grew  the  storm.  The  brig  was 
tossed  upon  it  like  a  handful  of  drift  wood  ;  every  tim- 
ber seemed  to  carry  on  a  struggle  by  itself — every  joint 
wrenched  and  tore  against  its  fastenings.  The  strained 
rudder  shrieked  like  a  wild  animal  in  the  agonies  of 
death.  The  hoarse  cry  of  the  trumpet  sounded  like  a 
groan  through  the  general  turmoil.  But  all  these  sounds 
were  nothing  to  the  howl  of  the  winds,  and  the  great  up- 
heaving rout  of  the  waters,  as  they  swelled  and  mingled 
together  in  one  tremendous  uproar.  The  negro  fell 
upon  his  knees,  trembling  and  ashen ;  but  the  boy — the 
gentle,  sensitive  child — stood  up,  with  a  smile  on  his 
mouth  and  a  beautiful  brightness  in  his  eyes. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  !"  he  said,  bending  over  the  negro. 
"  The  God  that  took  care  of  my  mamma  when  she  fell 
asleep,  is  here.  Something  tells  me  so." 

The  poor  negro  had  no  God  of  his  own  people  to  un- 
derstand, so  he  hung  upon  the  words  that  fell  from 
those  young  lips  with  unreasoning  trust.  The  dusky 
color  came  back  to  his  cheek,  and  lifting  his  faithful 
eyes  upward,  he  said  meekly : 

"  If  you  say  so,  young  master,  I  believe  it.  Jube  go 
where  you  go  ;  she'll  be  sure  to  want  him,  too." 

A  fierce  plunge — a  recoil — and  the  brig  stood  still, 
shivering  in  all  her  timbers,  like  a  wild  horse  with  its 
fore  feet  over  a  precipice.  It  was  but  an  instant.  Then 
a  cataract  of  waters  swept  over  her.  She  rolled  upon 
her  side,  and  could  not  right  herself ;  a  mighty  throe, 


88  CHAINED     IN     THE     HOLD. 

and  she  struggled  back,  working  heavily.  Another 
plunge— a  crash — a  despairing  cry  from  overhead — and 
the  boy  started  from  his  wrapt  composure. 

"  Come,  Jube,  let  us  go  up  and  tell  them  not  to  be 
afraid." 

The  crew  had  given  up.  One  man,  Rice,  stood  at  the 
helm,  resolute  to  meet  death  at  his  post  when  it  came. 
Thrasher  stood  firmly,  with  the  trumpet  grasped  in  his 
right  hand ;  but  his  face  was  like  marble,  and  he  gave 
no  orders.  The  brig  that  he  commanded  was  almost  a 
wreck.  The  sails  had  been  swept  away  ;  the  mainmast 
was  in  splinters  ;  not  a  vestige  of  her  massive  bulwarks 
was  left.  The  men  were  grouped  together  in  sullen 
despair.  Nothing  was  to  be  done — they  could  only 
stand  still  and  wait.  With  that  tornado  tearing  through 
the  mighty  waters,  and  lashing  them  into  great  sheets 
of  angry  foam,  there  was  no  contending.  They  huddled 
together,  that  group  of  stout  men,  helpless  as  infants. 

When  despair  was  on  every  face,  and  the  storm  raged 
fiercest,  that  pale,  Heaven-eyed  boy,  came  up  through 
the  hatches,  and  stood  among  the  sailors,  smiling.  He 
did  not  speak,  but  the  sweet  serenity  of  his  face  gave 
them  courage. 

The  mainmast  had  fallen,  dragging  heavily  on  the 
ship.  The  last  order  of  the  mate  had  been  to  cut  it 
away,  but  no  one  obeyed,  and  thus  inevitable  destruc- 
tion lay  before  them. 

"  One  more  onset,  my  men !"  cried  Rice.  "  Clear 
away  the  mast  and  she  will  right  herself." 

"Jube,  give  me  an  axe,  I  will  help!"  cried  Paul ;  and 
the  beautiful  courage  that  shone  in  his  face  inspired  the 
men.  They  fell  to  work  vigorously.  The  mast,  with  all 
its  entanglement  of  cordage,  plunged  into  the  boiling 
sea,  and  the  brig  righted  herself. 


CHAINED     IN     THE     HOLD.  89 

The  storm  was  over,  the  dismantled  brig  still  rode 
the  waves,  for  the  staunch  timber  of  New  England  does 
not  yield  readily,  and  the  strongest  had  been  put  to  its 
test  in  that  gallant  craft.  Jube  was  sent  back  to  his 
imprisonment  in  the  hold,  where  Paul  sought  him  at 
every  opportunity ;  but,  from  the  night  of  the  tempest, 
a  strange  animation  had  marked  the  boy,  sometliing 
which  no  one  could  understand. 

"Jube,"  he  said,  having  left  the  deck  on  the  third 
night,  when  the  sea  was  calm  as  if  it  had  never  known 
a  tempest,  and  ten  thousand  stars  broke  their  flickering 
gold  on  its  waves.  "  Jube,  it  is  time  that  we  look  for 
mamma.  God  has  taken  care  of  her,  I  know,  but  we 
must  search  and  find  her." 

"  Little  master,  I  know  where  she  is,  we  left  her  on 
White  Island." 

"  And  you  did  not  tell  me  when  I  was  so  near ;  but 
we  cannot  be  fax  off  now,  the  storm  drove  us  back. 
Jube,  I've  been  watching  for  something  to  happen,  for 
it  is  sure  mamma  wants  us.  Look  behind  that  barrel, 
and  see  how  much  bread  I've  saved.  Then  the  oranges 
Rice  spoke  of;  he  broke  open  a  box,  and  I've  got 
plenty." 

"Well,  little  master." 

"  They've  been  working  on  the  side  of  the  ship  to-day, 
and  did  not  haul  up  the  b'oat.  That  was  what  I've 
been  watching  for.  Take  the  bread  and  the  oranges, 
Jube,  and  let  us  go." 

Jube  arose,  took  up  the  little  sack  which  the  boy 
pointed  out,  and  followed  his  young  master  without  a 
question.  They  crossed  the  deck  softly,  dropped  down 
the  side  of  the  vessel  unseen,  and  with  the  knife  which 
Rice  had  given  him,  Paul  cut  the  boat  loose  from  the 
ship. 


90  CHAINED     IN     THE     HOLD. 

The  brig  lay  motionless,  for  she  was  still  disabled, 
and  the  boat  rocked  lightly  on  the  waves,  breaking  the 
starlight  into  golden  ripples  ;  thus  the  boat  and  the  half 
wrecked  vessel  drifted  apart.  Three  days  of  sunshine, 
and  calm,  lonely,  bright  days,  in  which  these  two  child- 
like beings  floated  like  people  in  a  dream.  The  boy 
wasnn  search  of  his  lost  parents,  and  looked  out  for 
them  over  the  bright  ocean  with  smiling  and  beautiful 
faith.  The  slave  hoped  nothing,  sought  for  nothing. 
He  was  content  by  his  young  master's  side.  They  had 
no  compass,  and  but  one  pair  of  oars,  which  proved  of 
little  use,  for  the  boat  had  no  destination,  nor  its  inmates 
the  remotest  knowledge  of  their  own  reckoning.  Thus 
they  drifted  on  three  days  without  accident.  No  vessel 
hove  in  sight,  and  all  was  a  clear,  heavy  calm.  On  the 
fourth  day  the  bread  and  fruit  were  gone.  Not  a  mouth- 
ful of  food,  not  a  drop  of  water,  save  the  great  deep,  a 
draught  of  which  would  be  delirium  or  death.  The  fifth 
day,  and  the  pangs  of  hunger  had  crept  steadily  on, 
and  gnawed  at  their  vitals  relentlessly.  Paul  no  longer 
gazed  abroad  on  the  waters,  but  lay  faint  and  ill  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  looking  up  to  the  stars  in  the  night 
time,  as  if  missing  his  mother  on  earth,  he  sought  her 
there.  Thus  they  drifted  on  day  and  night,  until  the 
end  drew  near.  Jube  managed  to  catch  a  little  dew  at 
sunset,  which  he  gave  to  the  child.  Rain  fell  once  in 
small  quantities,  and  refreshed  them,  but  still  the  cry 
of  famished  nature  went  up  for  food,  and  there  was 
nothing  but  the  salt  water  and  the  rainless  heavens  to 
answer  it. 

Paul  lay  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  fading  away,  and 
moaning  with  the  pangs  of  famine;  Jube  bent  over  him, 
breaking  the  hot  rays  of  the  sun  from,  the  white  and 


CHAINED     IN     THE     HOLD.  91 

sunken  face  with  his  body,  for  they  had  no  other  shelter. 
The  boy  moaned  in  his  sleep,  and  called  for  his  mother 
in  feeble  anguish.  Jube  was  very  weak,  but  he  managed 
to  lift  that  light  weight  so  far  as  to  lay  the  boy's  head 
on  his  knee. 

With  a  spasm  of  pain  the  child  awoke. 

"  Little  master." 

Jube's  voice  was  like  that  of  an  old  man,  hollow  and 
broken.  The  boy  looked  up,  tried  to  smile,  and  mur- 
mured, 

"  Yes,  Jube." 

"  Would  you  like  something  to  eat,  little  master?" 

"  To  eat — to  eat,"  whispered  the  boy,  opening  his  eyes 
wildly. 

"  A  piece  of  nice  steak.  You  wouldn't  mind  its  be- 
ing cooked,  would  you  ?" 

"  Steak ! — something  to  eat  !  Oh,  Jube,  we  shall 
never  eat  again  1" 

"  Look  here,  little  master,  now  be  still  and  hear  what 
I  say." 

The  boy  made  a  struggle  to  collect  his  faculties. 

"  Little  master,  listen :  when  you  find  me  lying  here  in 
the  boat,  and  you  can't  feel  my  heart  beat  when  you  lay 
your  hand  here,  just  cut  a  slice  out  of  my  shoulder  with 
the  jackknife." 

The  boy  closed  his  eyes,  shuddering. 

"  It  won't  be  very  hard  eating." 

The  slave  was  feeling  for  the  knife  as  he  tempted  the 
famished  child,  who  lay  moaning  across  his  knee.  He 
found  it  at  last ;  but  his  gaunt  hands  opened  it  with  dif- 
ficulty, for  their  strength  was  all  gone. 

The  poor  fellow  felt  for  the  spot  where  his  heart  beat 
strongest.  Then  he  spoke  to  the  child  again. 


92      THE    HOUSE     IN     THE     PINE     WOODS. 

The  knife  will  be  open,  little  master,  don't  forget  what 
I  tell  you." 

He  lifted  the  knife  feebly,  a  flash  of  sunshine  on  the 
blade  gleamed  across  the  half  shut  eyes  of  the  boy.  He 
comprehended  the  meaning  of  Jube's  words.  He  sprang 
up,  snatched  the  knife,  flung  it  into  the  ocean,  and  fell 
senseless  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

Jube  burst  into  childish  tears,  and  with  his  head  bent 
down  to  his  breast,  fell  into  a  state  of  apathy. 

When  he  looked  up  again  a  ship  was  in  sight,  coming 
gallantly  toward  them.  He  gave  a  feeble  shout,  and 
strove  to  arouse  the  child,  but  could  not.  Then  he 
took  the  cotton  bag  that  had  held  their  bread,  and  fas- 
tening it  to  an  oar,  swung  it  wearily  to  and  fro,  crying 
out  with  all  his  strength,  which  left  nothing  but  moans 
on  his  parched  lips. 

The  ship  bore  down  upon  them,  she  came  so  near  that 
Jube  could  see  her  crew  on  the  deck,  then  veered  slowly 
and  faded  away. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   HOUSE   IN   THE   PINE   WOODS. 

SOME  four  or  five  miles  from  that  lovely  spot,  where 
the  Housatonic  and  Naugatuc  join  their  waters,  stands 
a  large  manufacturing  village  of  no  inconsiderable  im- 
portance. Iron  foundries,  paper-mills,  India  rubber 
and  silk  manufactories  cluster  around  one  of  the  finest 
waterfalls  of  New  England.  That  waterfall  is  pictur- 
esque even  now,  spite  of  the  cottages,  boarding  houses, 


THE     HOUSE     IN    THE     PINE    WOODS.      93 

hotels,  railroad  station,  and  tanneries,  that  have  taken 
the  place  of  green  woods,  richly  clothed  hills,  and  a 
valley  so  fragrant  with  wild  flowers,  that  it  was  happi- 
ness to  breathe  its  very  air. 

But  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  describe  this  town  aa 
it  is.  Every  thing,  even  the  name,  derived  from  an  old 
Revolutionary  officer,  is  changed.  My  object  carries 
me  back  to  a  time  when  it  was  indeed  one  of  the  love- 
liest spots  in  the  world — a  rich,  deep  valley,  with  a 
noble  waterfall  thundering  at  its  heart.  High,  curving, 
and  broken  banks,  almost  mountainous  in  places,  loom- 
ing up  or  sloping  back  on  either  side,  and  two  lovely 
brooks  pouring  their  bright,  fresh  waters  into  the  river 
above  the  falls. 

One  came  winding  around  Rock  Rimmond,  softened 
and  shadowed  by  its  grim  heights.  The  other,  pretty, 
sparkling  Bladens  Brook,  ran  laughing  and  dancing 
through  the  Wintergreen  woods,  on  the  opposite  shore, 
with  a  gush  of  cheerfulness  that  seemed  like  sunshine, 
and  leaped  into  the  river  just  where  it  began  to  gather 
up  its  waters  for  a  plunge  over  the  great  falls,  in  ono 
broad,  rushing  cataract  of  crystal.  From  the  falls 
downward,  the  valley  was  choked  up  with  noble  forest 
trees,  through  which  the  river  ran  slowly  and  grandly 
till  it  swept  around  the  shadowy  base  of  Castle  Rock, 
and  disappeared  on  its  way  to  join  the  Housatonic. 
This  rock,  high,  precipitous,  and  picturesque,  termi- 
nates all  that  we  have  to  do  with  the  valley,  for  its  high 
cliffs  cut  off  the  prospect  in  that  direction,  and  all  the 
level  space  between  it  and  the  falls  was  one  vast  grove  of 
white  pines,  which  formed  the  grandest  masses  of  trees 
I  ever  saw  in  my  life. 

A  few  hemlocks,  a  white  poplar  or  so,  with  now  and 


94      THE     HOUSE     IN    THE    PINE    VTOOD3. 

then  a  magnificent  oak  variegated  the  woods,  but  great 
pines  predominated  everywhere.  The  earth  was  littered 
with  their  sharp  leaves ;  the  wind  sighed  among  their 
branches  as  if  it  never  could  win  a  free  passage  through 
their  greenness.  As  for  the  sunshine,  it  only  reached 
the  forest  turf  and  velvet  moss  in  a  golden  embroidery 
— seldom  with  broad  gleams.  Never  were  there  such 
cool,  green  shadows  as  hung  about  those  woods.  The 
noises  that  floated  through  them  were  strangely  be- 
wildering ;  there  was  the  roar  and  dash  of  the  falls — 
the  clatter  of  machinery — for  even  in  that  day  one 
factory,  among  the  first  ever  established  in  New  Eng- 
land, stood  by  the  falls,  and  the  sound  of  flying  shuttles 
and  the  beat  of  heavy  looms,  held  a  cheerful  rivalry 
with  the  flow  of  the  waters  and  the  rush  of  the  winds. 
Then  came  the  bird  songs,  wild,  clear,  and  ringing,  lost 
outside  of  the  woods,  but  making  heavenly  music  if  jpu 
but  listened  under  the  trees. 

Just  below  the  falls,  so  near  as  almost  to  be  sprinkled 
with  the  spray,  and  to  gather  foam  wreaths  about  its 
timbers,  was  a  long,  low,  wooden  bridge,  linking  two 
villages  together. 

These  villages  crowned  the  two  lofty  banks  overlooking 
the  falls,  from  which  one  took  its  name.  Fall's  Hill  was 
rendered  most  conspicuous  by  a  pretty,  white  church, 
with  a  tall,  symmetrical  spire,  cutting  sharply  against  the 
sky,  added  to  a  cluster  of  superior  dwelling  houses, 
and  a  country  store.  In  front  of  this  store,  just  on  the 
fork  of  the  roads,  stands,  I  hope  to  this  day,  a  magnificent 
old  willow  tree,  under  which  people  who  came  from  afar 
sometimes  tied  their  horses,  while  they  went  up  to  wor- 
ship in  the  church,  which  stood  on  the  very  highest 
point  of  land  to  be  found  till  you  came  to  Rock  Rinimond 


THE    HOUSE    IN    THE    PINE     WOODS.      95 

on  one  hand,  or  Castle  Rock  on  the  other.  These  cross- 
roads cut  in  twa  directions,  one  led  to  the  Bungy  hills, 
and  the  other  toward  a  red  school-house  and  some  strag- 
gling dwellings  in  shrub  oaks :  beyond  this,  the  geog- 
raphy of  the  country  is  lost  in  a  confusion  of  green  hills 
and  woodlands,  which  form  a  pleasant  and  prosperous 
farming  country. 

From  Shrub  Oak,  the  turnpike  leads  directly  down 
Fall's  Hill  with  precipitous  steepness,  across  the  old 
bridge,  and  through  a  sand  hill,  with  a  wall  of  white  sand 
thirty  feet  high  on  either  side,  directly  into  Chewstown, 
on  the  opposite  hill. 

This  cluster  of  houses  took  its  name  from  some  old 
Indian,  forgotten  by  his  tribe,  who  lived  and  died  in  a 
hut  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood,  and  at  this  day  is 
probably  forgotten  in  a  town  where  a  change  of  time- 
honored  names  seems  to  be  a  political  fashion.  At  any 
rate,  it  was  called  Chewstown  then,  and  a  smart,  active 
little  village  it  was.  For  it  had  two  crossroad  taverns, 
a  great,  barnlike  Presbyterian  meeting-house,  and  a 
dashing,  new  Academy,  which  boasted  of  a  pretentious 
little  cupola  with  a  bell  in  it,  mounted  on  the  high- 
est point  of  land  that  side  of  the  river,  and  contrast- 
ing itself  saucily  with  the  spire  of  the  church  on  the  op- 
posite bank.  Any  number  of  roads  crossed  and  recrossed 
over  the  hill  at  Chewstown.  There  was  the  Derby  road, 
running  along  the  banks  of  the  river  ;  the  New  Haven 
road,  cutting  through  the  sand  banks  in  a  parallel  line, 
and  crossroads  from  the  farming  districts  intersecting 
them  both.  The  fact  is,  Fall's  Hill  had  a  little  more 
than  its  share  of  the  aristocracy.  Chewstown  made  up 
for  that,  by  broader  commercial  opportunities.  The 
taverns  were  always  in  a  flourishing  condition,  and  a 


96      THE     HOUSE    IN    THE    PINE    WOODS. 

blacksmith's  shop,  that  looked  like  a  foundry,  brought 
the  farmers  from  far  and  near  to  get  their  horses  and 
oxen  shod.  Besides,  there  was  a  country  store  on  the 
corner,  and  three  white  cottages  with  basements,  built 
in  a  line  like  city  houses,  and  the  farmers  on  that  side  of 
the  river  were  often  heard  to  say  that  Chewstown  could 
pull  an  even  yoke  with  Fall's  Hill  any  time  of  day,  if 
they  had  not  got  a  steeple  to  their  meeting-house. 

In  this  village,  Captain  Mason  had  left  his  wife  and 
child,  and  here,  also,  Thrasher,  the  mate,  was  born. 
Down  in  the  outskirts  of  the  pine  woods,  on  the  Fall's 
Hill  side  of  the  Naugatuc,  a  river  road  ran  along  the 
curving  base  of  the  hill,  and  wound  seaward  with  the 
stream.  On  this  road,  between  the  bridge  and  Castle 
Rock,  there  was  but  one  house,  a  low,  white  cottage,  with 
peach  trees  behind  it,  and  lilac  bushes  in  front.  A 
great  tulip  tree  sheltered  the  low  roof,  and  behind  the 
garden  rolled  the  green  billows  of  the  pine  woods.  It 
was  a  lonely,  but  very  beautiful  spot,  such  as  a  man  like 
Mason  would  be  likely  to  select  as  a  home  for  his  beloved 
ones. 

Here,  in  fact,  this  good  man  had  left  his  wife  and  only 
child,  the  latter  a  charming  little  golden-haired  creature 
of  four  years  old,  when  he  sailed  for  St.  Domingo  in  the 
brig  Floyd,  which  we  know  to  have  been  left  disabled 
and  drifting  on  the  ocean.  The  vessel  had  been  absent 
six  weeks  beyond  its  time,  and  no  intelligence  had  yet 
reached  her  owners  or  that  anxious  woman,  regarding 
her  fate.  This  voyage  had  been  Mason's  first  experience 
as  captain ;  his  little  savings  had  been  invested  in  a 
private  venture,  out  of  which  he  hoped  to  provide  some- 
thing— beforehand,  to  use  his  own  words — for  his  wife 
and  little  one. 


KATHARINE     ALLEN'S     VISIT.  97 

Mrs.  Mason  was  both  sad  and  anxious — sad  from  the 
gloom  of  hope  deferred,  and  anxious  because  the  little 
provision  made  for  her  support  had  melted  away,  leaving 
her  almost  in  want.  She  was  sitting  in  her  neat  parlor, 
with  one  of  the  little  girl's  garments  in  her  hands,  sigh- 
ing heavily  with  each  drawing  of  the  thread,  when  a 
knock  sounded  at  the  door 

She  stopped,  with  the  needle  half  through  her  work, 
and  listened.  Of  course,  he  would  never  have  paused 
to  knock  at  his  own  door,  but  then,  the  very  thought  of 
this  wild  possibility  suspended  her  breath. 

Again  the  knock  sounded,  and  the  young  wife  called 
out  with  her  usual  hospitable  voice, 

"  Come  in." 

The  door  opened,  and  a  female  entered,  wrapped  in  a 
dark  red  cloak — the  hood  of  which  she  put  modestly 
back,  revealing  as  fair  a  face  as  you  often  look  upon  in 
an  entire  lifetime. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

KATHARINE   ALLEN'S   VISIT   TO    THE   WHITE    COTTAGE. 

"  OH,  Katharine  Allen,  is  that  you  ?"  said  Mrs.  Mason, 
with  a  touch  of  disappointment  in  her  voice,  which  the 
girl  noticed  with  a  pang.  .  j 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Mason,  I  had  got  through  my  day's  work, 
and  so  ran  down  once  more  to  see  if — if  you  had  heard 
any  thing  yet." 

"  Yes,  I  thought  so — it  must  be  a  comfort  to  have 
some  one  to  run  to — I  haven't  a  living  soul  I"  said  Mrs. 
6 


98  KATHARINE     ALLEN'S     VISIT. 

Mason,  a  little  petulantly,  for  Katharine  had  been  at 
the  house  more  than  once  to  ask  these  same  questions, 
and  the  young  wife  always  shrank  from  acknowledging 
that  she  had  no  good  news.  This  feeling  became  more 
and  more  painful  as  the  time  wore  on,  and  her  own  heart 
grew  faint  with  apprehension. 

"Not  a  word?  Haven't  you  heard  any  thing?"  fal- 
tered the  young  girl,  sinking  into  a  chair,  and  turning 
her  great  blue  eyes  on  Mrs.  Mason,  with  an  intensity 
of  suffering  that  startled  the  unhappy  woman  into  a 
momentary  forgetfulness  of  her  own  anxieties. 

"  No,  Katharine,  not  one  word.  It  breaks  my  heart 
to  own  it,  but  not  a  breath  of  news  has  reached  me 
since  the  brig  sailed." 

"  And  she  ought  to  have  been  in  weeks  ago  !  What 
can  be  the  matter,  Mrs.  Mason  ?  tell  me,  oh  do  tell  me, 
if  you  have  the  least  idea  I" 

"  I  can  only  guess  like  yourself,  Kate.  The  ocean  is 
a  treacherous  thing  to  trust  those  you  love  with.  The 
storm  of  a  single  night  may  have  made  little  Rose  an 
orphan." 

The  poor  woman  began  to  cry  as  she  said  this,  and 
calling  the  little  girl  to  her  knee  kissed  her  with  mourn- 
ful tenderness. 

"  How  fond  you  are  of  the  little  girl — it  must  be  a 
great  comfort  to  have  his  child  looking  into  your  face ! 
One  could  endure  almost  any  thing  for  that!"  said 
Katharine,  evidently  trembling  as  she  spoke. 

"A  comfort  and  a  pain,  Katharine,  for  if  he  never 
comes  back — " 

"  Oh,  don't — don't  say  that,"  cried  the  girl,  shivering. 
"The  thought  is  enough  to  kill  one:  words — I  could 
not  put  that  into  words  " 


KATHARINE     ALLEN'S     VISIT.  99 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  take  on  so,"  said  Mrs.  Mason, 
sharply.  "  It's  bad  enough  to  wait  and  wait,  and — oh 
dear,  oh  dear,  what  will  become  of  us  ?" 

Here  the  poor  woman  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears, 
wringing  her  hands  passionately. 

"  Mother,"  said  little  Rose,  "  are  you  crying  because 
pa  hasn't  come  back  with  my  pretty  dress  ?" 

The  mother  could  not  answer  for  her  sobs ;  as  for  Kate 
Allen,  she  sat  looking  at  them  with  cold  tears  dropping 
down  her  white  cheeks,  as  if  she  longed  to  fall  upon  her 
knees  and  ask  them  to  pity  her  a  little. 

"  What  do  you  cry  for,  Katjr  Allen  ?"  said  the  child, 
rather  jealous  that  any  other  one  should  weep  but  her 
mother.  "  You  have  not  got  no  pa,  nor  no  husband  out 
to  sea." 

"  Oh,  God  help  me  !  God  forgive  me  !  I  haven't,  J. 
haven't,"  sobbed  the  beautiful  girl,  rocking  to  and  fro 
on  her  chair. 

Mrs.  Mason  checked  her  tears  and  looked  on  wonder- 
ingly.  This  strange  outburst  of  grief  almost  irritated 
her,  for,  like  her  child,  she  rather  craved  a  monopoly  of 
suffering.  All  at  once  a  wild  apprehension  seized  upon 
her.  What  if  Kate  had  heard — what  if  she  knew  that 
the  brig  had  gone  down  with  every  soul  on  board,  and 
had  no  strength  to  speak  it  out !  Frightened  by  this 
new  dread  she  started  up  and  stood  over  the  weeping 
girl. 

"Tell  me — tell  me  all  you  have  heard,"  she  almost 
shrieked.  "  If  you  don't  want  to  see  me  drop  dead  at 
your  feet,  before  the  face  of  my  child,  speak  out !" 

Katharine  looked  up  ;  amazement  checked  her  tears, 
and  the  pupils  of  her  beautiful  eyes  dilated. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,  Mrs.  Mason ;  I  have  not  heard 
a  syllable,  how  could  I  ?" 


100          KATHARINE     ALLEN'S     VISIT. 

"  And  are  you  so  very  sorry  for  us  ?" 

"  Does  it  make  you  angry,  because  I  can't  keep  back 
the  tears  ?  Oh,  it  seems  as  if  I  could  die,  if  any  one 
would  feel  for  me." 

"  Why,  Katharine,  what  is  your  trouble  ?" 

"  Nothing — nothing — I'm  not  in  trouble." 

Mrs.  Mason  began  to  look  serious,  an  old  suspicion 
flashed  across  her  mind.  She  was  not  a  woman  of  much 
natural  refinement,  and  the  innate  vanity  of  her  nature 
more  than  compassion  spoke  out  in  her  next  words. 

"  Katharine,  speak  out — is  it  about  Nelson  Thrasher 
you  are  taking  on  so  ?" 

The  blood  rushed  over  that  white  face  like  a  sudden 
sunset,  then  the  poor  girl  grew  pale  again,  and  purplish 
shadows  came  out  under  her  eyes,  leaving  them,  oh,  how 
zjournful. 

"  You  need  not  look  so  frightened,  Kate — there's  no 
harm  in  it  if  you  do  love  him,  only  you  haven't  got  my 
spirit,  that's  all." 

"  What ! — what  do  you  mean,  Mrs.  Mason?" 

"  What  do  I  mean  ?  why  nothing  worth  mentioning." 
A  peculiar  curve  of  the  handsome  lip,  as  Mrs.  Mason 
said  this,  made  the  young  girl  shiver  from  head  to 
foot. 

"  Yes,  but  you  have  a  meaning  when  you  speak  of  my 
not  having  a  spirit.  Oh,  tell  me  what  it  is  I" 

"  Why  nothing,  Kate,  only  I  thought  you  would  have 
more  pride  than  to  take  up  with  another  woman's  leav- 
ings." 

"Another  woman's  leavings!"  repeated  Kate,  all 
aghast ;  "  another  woman's  leavings  1" 

"  That  was  what  I  observed,"  answered  Mrs.  Mason, 
with  a  slight  toss  of  the  head.  "  Boasting  isn't  in  my 


KATHARINE     ALLEN'S    VISIT.  101 

line,  or  I  could  point  out  a  certain  person  who  gave 
Nelse  Thrasher  his  walking  papers  more  than  once,  as  if 
I  would  condescend  to  him,  when  his  superior  stood 
hat  in  hand." 

"  You — you — was  it  so  ?  when,  when  ?" 

"  Really,  Miss  Allen,  you  take  away  one's  breath ;  of 
course  it  was  before  I  married  John  Mason,  as  if  there 
could  be  a  choice." 

The  poor  girl  was  thunderstruck — that  beautiful  face 
drooped  slowly  to  her  bosom,  and  she  seemed  to  be 
shrinking  into  a  shadow.  At  last,  she  lifted  her  head 
with  a  wan  smile. 

"  That  was  four  long  years  ago,  more  than  four  years 
ago,"  she  cried — "  Four  years  ago." 

"  Well,  what  of  that ;  four  years  does  not  destroy  the 
truth." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Katharine,  very  quietly, 
"there's  some  mistake." 

"  Mistake  !  what  does  the  girl  mean  ?  as  if  I  didn't 
know  when  a  man  persecutes  me  with  his  love.  Makes 
me  a  point  blank  offer,  and  goes  off  to  sea  in  despair 
when  I  marry  his  superior.  Mistake,  indeed  !" 

"  No,"  persisted  the  girl,  "  I  don't  believe  it ;  no  wo- 
man could  refuse  him  if  he  once  offered.  No  woman  on 
earth ;  it  isn't  in  nature." 

"  Indeed,  you  have  a  mighty  high  opinion  of  Nelse 
Thrasher,  as  if  he  was  fit  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same 
day  with  Captain  Mason.  I  wonder  at  your  daring  to 
say  these  things  to  me." 

Katharine  did  not  hear  her ;  she  was  searching  the 
past,  urged  and  goaded  in  her  memory  by  keen  pangs 
of  distrust. 

"Besides,"  she  exclaimed,  "he  has  been  home  since 
,  and  never  come  near  you,  not  even  as  a  friend." 


102          KATHARINE     ALLEN'S     VISIT. 

"  I'd  like  to  see  him  have  the  impudence,"  was  the 
angry  rejoinder. 

Katharine  seemed  bewildered  a  moment,  and  then 
clasped  her  hands  in  passionate  despair.  "  What's  the 
use — oh,  what's  the  use  of  saying  this !  It's  terrible, 
and  they  both  in  the  deep,  deep  sea." 

Here  Mrs.  Mason's  vanity  broke  down,  and  her  true 
womanliness  asserted  itself. 

"God  forgive  us  for  quarreling  about  them,"  she 
said,  really  penitent.  "  If  they  only  come  back,  I  shall 
be  as  glad  for  your  sake  as  you  will  be  for  mine.  Don't 
mind  what  I  said,  Katy,  it  isn't  worth  remembering. 
Tell  me  now,  are  you  really  engaged  to  Thrasher  ?" 

"Yes."  This  little  word  came  faltering  through  lips 
as  cold  and  white  as  snow. 

"And  you  never  told  of  it  ?" 

"  What  did  I  say — engaged !  No,  we  are  not  engaged. 
How  could  I  tell  you  so  1" 

"  Well,  well,  there's  no  harm  in  it  if  you  are.  God 
Bend  the  Floyd  and  all  hands  safely  back." 

Those  large  eyes  were  lifted — oh !  how  pleadingly — 
to  heaven,  and  then  Katharine  began  to  gather  her  cloak 
more  closely  around  her. 

"You're  not  going !"  said  Mrs.  Mason,  ashamed  of  her 
unwomanly  outbreak.  "  Just  take  off  your  cloak,  and 
have  a  cup  of  tea.  Rose  and  I  haven't  had  ours  yet ;  I 
fell  to  thinking  over  my  work,  and  forgot  it." 

"  No,"  said  Katharine,  more  quietly,  "  I  must  go  now; 
mother  will  be  anxious  to  hear.  You  forget,  Mrs.  Ma- 
soa,  that  my  half-brother  is  on  board  the  brig." 

"  Well,  true  enough,  my  head  was  so  full  of  that  fel- 
low, Thrasher,  that  I  forgot  that  it  might  be  some  other 
person  you  were  crying  about.  It's  hard,  waiting  and 


KATHARINE     ALLEN'S     VISIT.  103 

waiting  in  this  way ;  but  we  must  have  patience,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  I'll  go  now,"  said  the  girl,  rising. 

Little  Rose,  with  the  sweet  instinct  of  childhood, 
came  up  to  where  the  young  girl  stood,  and  lifted  up  her 
arms  for  a  kiss. 

Katharine  bent  down,  with  a  flutter  of  the  heart,  and 
left  a  kiss  on  the  little  rosebud  of  a  mouth,  but  her  lips 
quivered,  and  the  child  grew  sad  under  the  mournful 
caress. 

When  Katharine  Allen  was  gone,  Mrs.  Mason  sat 
down  to  her  work  again.  She  was  a  vain,  self-sufficient 
woman,  but  not  in  reality  an  unkind  one.  The  distress 
which  she  had  just  witnessed  left  her  in  low  spirits. 
She  was  naturally  of  a  hopeful  disposition,  and,  in  truth, 
was  quite  incapable  of  the  deep  feeling  which  had  dis- 
turbed her  in  Katharine.  Something  would  turn  up  and 
set  all  things  right,  she  was  sure  of  that ;  contrary 
winds,  heavy  freight — there  was  some  such  reason  why 
the  brig  did  not  come  to  port ;  what  was  the  use  of 
fretting  while  these  chances  remained.  As  these  con- 
soling thoughts  passed  through  her  mind,  she  plied  her 
needle  with  increasing  diligence.  Rose  must  have  her 
new  frock  embroidered  before  her  father  came  home.  A 
few  more  leaves  in  the  vine  that  enriched  the  skirt,  and 
it  would  be  completed.  Mrs.  Mason  was  almost  out  of 
bread,  or  any  thing  from  which  bread  is  made,  but  she 
was  a  woman  to  cover  unsuitable  garments  with  useless 
embroidery,  rather  than  turn  her  hand  to  any  thing  by 
which  her  necessities  could  be  supplied.  She  would 
rather  have  seen  little  Rose  hungry  a  thousand  times 
than  ill  dressed. 


104  HOME     PROM     SEA. 

CHAPTER   XII. 

HOME   FROM   SEA. 

WHILE  Mrs.  Mason  sat  plying  her  needle,  little  Rose 
wandered  about  the  room,  wondering  what  made  pretty 
Katharine  Allen  so  very  sorrowful,  but  keeping  the 
thoughts  to  herself.  In  the  stillness,  she  heard  a  step 
on  the  gravel  walk  outside  the  house.  Then  a  white 
lilac  bush  near  the  window  was  disturbed,  and  she  saw 
a  man's  face  close  to  the  glass.  The  child  would  have 
cried  out,  but  the  tongue  clove  to  her  mouth,  and  she 
stood  transfixed  with  fear.  She  saw  the  door  softly 
opened,  and  a  strange  man  step  to  the  threshold.  Then 
her  voice  broke  forth,  and  pointing  her  finger  at  the 
stranger,  she  cried  out : 

"  Mother,  mother !  it's  somebody  from  the  sea !"  Mrs. 
Mason  dropped  both  hands  in  her  lap,  and  gazed  breath- 
lessly on  the  man.  Every  tint  of  color  left  her  hand- 
some face ;  she  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not.  The  man 
was  so  pale  and  so  wild  of  countenance  that  she  might 
well  have  been  stricken  with  deadly  fear. 

"  Nelson  Thrasher,"  she  faltered  at  last. 

He  took  a  step  into  the  room,  but  did  not  speak. 

"Nelson  Thrasher!"  she  almost  shrieked.  "  If  you 
are  a  living  soul,  speak.  Where  is  my  husband  ?" 

The  man  recoiled  a  step,  and  well  he  might.  The 
question  came  on  him  so  suddenly,  it  might  have  startled 
the  boldest  man  on  earth.  It  absolutely  seemed  to  ter- 
rify him.  He  stood  a  moment  staring  at  her,  then 
answered  in  a  low,  hoarse  voice : 


HOME     FKOM     SEA.  105 

"  I  come  to  tell  you  about  him." 

The  little  girl  caught  the  meaning  of  his  words,  rose 
up  and  seizing  his  hand  between  both  her  dimpled  palms 
cried  out : 

"  He  comes  to  tell  about  pa!  Oh,  please  sir,  where  is 
he  ?  Why  don't  he  come  home  ?" 

Thrasher  looked  down  in  her  face,  and  met  the  glance 
of  those  eyes — her  father's  eyes.  He  instantly  shook 
her  hands  off  as  if  they  had  been  vipers,  and  with  a  ges- 
ture which  seemed  to  cast  aside  some  terrible  feeling, 
threw  himself  on  a  chair. 

"  My  husband 1"  said  Mrs.  Mason.  "  Tell  me,  is  he 
coming? — is  he  well?" 

"Your  husband,  John  Mason,  is  dead  1" 

"  Dead !  dead  1"  The  poor  woman  grew  faint  under 
the  suddenness  of  this  solemn  announcement,  and  drop- 
ped helplessly  into  her  chair. 

Thrasher  sprang  up,  and  stretching  out  his  arms,  re- 
ceived her  head  on  his  bosom. 

Little  Rose  stood  in  silent  fear,  watching  them. 
After  a  moment  she  went  close  to  Thrasher,  and  pulled 
at  his  coat. 

"  Let  me  hold  mother — I  don't  want  you  there." 

Thrasher  pushed  her  away  with  one  hand.  The  wo- 
man lay  as  if  she  were  dead  against  his  heart,  which 
beat  with  iron  heaviness,  like  the  trip-hammer  of  a 
foundry. 

Again  the  child  pulled  at  his  skirts.  She  was  crying 
now. 

"  What  is  dead  ?  I  say,  man,  what  is  dead  ?  I  want 
to  know !" 

"  See!"  answered  Thrasher,  lifting  the  woman's  white 
face  from  his  bosom.  "  See  !" 


106  HOME     FROM     SEA. 

"  And  is  that  it  ?"  whispered  the  child,  through  her 
hushed  tears.  "  Mother  !  mother !" 

The  shock  and  suddenness  of  Thrasher's  tidings  had 
overcome  Mrs.  Mason,  but  she  was  not  entirely  uncon- 
scious. When  the  child  called  out  in  her  sweet,  pa- 
thetic voice,  she  staggered  from  Thrasher's  hold,  and 
falling  back  into  her  chair,  held  out  both  arms  for  Rose. 
The  little  thing  sprang  to  her  lap  with  a  cry  of  joy,  and 
instantly  covered  the  troubled  face  with  kisses. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  turning  her  face  toward  Thrasher ; 
"  now  tell  me  about  him,  my  dear,  dear  pa." 

"  Send  the  child  a  way,  while  I  tell  you,"  said  Thrasher. 

Rose  clung  to  her  mother's  neck. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Mason,  "  she  must  learn  all  some- 
time, and  I  am  stronger  with  her  near." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  Mrs.  Mason  said 
very  faintly, 

"  Was  the  ship  lost  ?" 

"  Almost — but  it  was  not  then  it  happened.  We  were 
on  shore  at  Port  au  Prince.  The  blacks  had  risen,  and  a 
horrid  murder  of  the  white  inhabitants  was  going  on. 
Mason  would  go  on  shore.  I  warned  him,  but  it  was 
of  no  use.  One  night,  when  the  massacre  was  at  the 
highest,  he  took  all  hands  except  one  or  two,  and  left 
the  ship.  The  negroes  were  hard  at  work,  murdering 
and  burning  like  demons.  He  would  venture  among 
them.  It  was  dangerous — I  told  him  so.  Well  he  came 
back  at  last  with  a  woman  and  little  boy." 

"  A  woman  I" 

"  Yes,  a  beautiful  woman,  one  of  the  handsomest  you 
ever  saw." 

"Indeed!" 

"  He  had  saved  her  from  a  swarm  of  blacks,  who  had 


HOME     FROM     SEA.  107 

brought  her  and  her  son  out  for  a  carouse,  under  the 
palm  trees.  The  boy  was  brought  on  board,  but  they 
carried  the  lady  off  to  one  of  the  little  islands  in  the 
harbor.  Mason,  "with  some  of  the  men,  went  down  the 
ship's  side  at  night,  and  rowed  off  with  her.  After  that 
Mason  was  never  at  rest,  always  going  off  on  private 
expeditions.  I  did  not  like  it,  so  one  night,  when  he 
was  determined  to  go,  I  insisted  on  taking  a  turn  on 
shore  mj'self.  To  own  the  truth,  I  had  a  little  curiosity 
to  see  the  house  where  the  lady  had  lived,  and  to  be  cer- 
tain that  she  was  not  there  still.  Well,  he  consented, 
and  I  went. 

"  It  was  a  splendid  house ;  covered  an  acre  of  ground. 
Such  rooms,  such  gardens — I  never  saw  any  thing  like 
it.  The  house  was  so  large  that  we  could  not  tell  if  it 
was  inhabited  or  not,  but  while  we  were  wandering 
around,  a  great  noise  in  the  lower  rooms  alarmed  us ; 
we  hurried  through  the  long  halls  down  to  the  under- 
ground cellars. 

"  The  negroes  had  been  there  before  us.  Every  thing 
was  in  confusion ;  we  waded  ankle  deep  in  red  wine. 
The  cellar  was  half  full  of  negroes  who  had  been  wallow- 
ing there,  and  were  now  fierce  with  drunkenness.  There 
was  not  much  light,  for  the  negroes  dropped  their 
torches,  one  by  one,  and  the  lees  of  the  wine  put  them 
out.  How  your  husband  came  there,  I  do  not  know. 
He  rcust  have  followed  us  in  one  of  the  small  boats. 
Certain  it  is,  when  I  was  half  down  the  steps  his  face 
was  the  first  I  saw ;  he  was  struggling  for  his  life — A 
dozen  sooty  rascals  were  tearing  at  him.  I  gave  the 
cry  and  sprang  down,  cutlass  in  hand,  but  before  I 
reached  him  it  was  all  over." 

"  And  they  killed  him  ?  Oh,  father  of  mercies,  they 
killed  him,  and  you  saw  it  ?" 


108  HOME     FROM     SB  A. 

"I  have  told  you  all." 

The  child  had  been  growing  pale  as  she  listened,  not 
that  she  quite  understood,  but  because  of  the  deadly 
whiteness  which  settled  on  her  mother's  face,  and  the 
hoarse  voice  of  the  man  who  was  speaking.  Mrs.  Ma- 
son sat  still.  The  shock  of  this  wild  story  left  her 
dumb.  Thrasher  cast  anxious  glances  on  her  face,  but 
if  the  child  looked  at  him  his  eyes  fell.  At  last,  the 
woman  found  the  power  of  speech : 

"  He  sent  no  word — he  died  without  thinking  of 
us!" 

"  I  cannot  tell  what  his  thoughts  were,  or  any  thing 
except  that  we  found  him  fighting,  and  saw  him  fall." 

"  And  who  else  saw  him  ?" 

"  No  one.  My  men  went  into  another  section  of  the 
cellar.  The  wine  was  good,  and  they  were  in  no  hurry 
to  follow  me." 

"  But  some  one  saw  him  after — you  did  not  leave  the 
dead  body  of  my  husband  to  be  trampled  on  by  a  band 
of  negroes  ?" 

"We  could  not  help  it — the  blacks  were  ten  to  one." 

"  But  did  no  one  see  him  but  yourself?"  Did  no  one 
try  to  help  him  ?" 

"Yes,  one  man." 

"And  who  was  he  ?" 

"A  fellow  by  the  name  of  Rice." 

"  What !  Katharine  Allen's  half  brother?" 

Thrasher  turned  paler  than  he  had  done  before  that 
evening.  "  Her  brother — I  did  not  know  that,"  he  mut- 
tered, uneasily. 

Mrs.  Mason  did  not  heed  this ;  the  conviction  of  her 
great  loss  grew  more  and  more  distinct  to  her  mind ;  all 
the  desolation  that  must  follow  the  cruel  news  of  that 


HOME     FROM     SEA.  109 

evening  crowded  upon  her.  She  folded  the  little  girl 
close  to  her  heart,  and  began  to  weep  over  her  in  bitter 
grief. 

"Are  you  sure  that  Rice  is  connected  with  Katharine 
Allen  ?"  asked  Thrasher,  taking  advantage  of  a  pause  in 
her  sobs. 

"  Old  Mrs.  Allen  was  married  twice,"  she  answered, 
impatiently,  for  grief  made  her  restive.  "  He  was  her 
only  son  by  the  first  husband.  Tell  me  where  he  is ;  I 
want  to  see  him.  I  want  to  know  every  word  and  look 
of  my  poor,  poor  husband.  Where  can  Rice  be  found?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  he  kept  with  the  ship.  I  came  di- 
rectly home,  fearing  to  let  any  less  friendly  person  tell 
you  the  sad  news." 

"  You  were  very  kind,"  sobbed  the  poor  woman,  "very 
kind  ;  I  shall  never  forget  it." 

"  I  always  wished  to  be  kind  to  you,  Ellen,"  was  the 
almost  tender  reply. 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it ;  but  he  always  stood  between 
me  and  any  other  man." 

Thrasher  arose,  and  would  have  approached  Mrs.  Ma- 
son ;  but  Rose  clung  to  her  neck  with  one  arm  and  waved 
him  away  with  the  other. 

"  She  is  my  mother — you  shan't  touch  my  mother !" 
she  cried,  flashing  angry  glances  at  him  through  her 
tears.  Thrasher  looked  upon  the  child  with  mingled 
hate  and  fear.  It  was  wonderful  how  much  power  those 
deep  blue  eyes,  sparkling  with  a  thousand  childish  emo- 
tions, possessed  over  the  strong  man.  There  was  some- 
thing spirituelle  in  her  loveliness  that  impressed  him,  as 
if  an  angel  had  been  reading  the  record  of  his  life,  and 
rebuked  him  with  those  violet  eyes. 

Thrasher  arose  hesitating,  and  almost  timidly;  he 


110  HOME     FROM     SEA. 

stood  expecting  Mrs.  Mason  to  notice  the  movement ; 
but  she  was  occupied  with  her  grief,  and  did  not  observe 
him. 

"  Mother,"  said  little  Rose,  smiling  through  her  tears, 
"  look  up,  mother ;  the  man  who  makes  you  cry  is  going 
away." 

Mrs.  Mason  wiped  her  eyes,  and  strove  to  appear 
interested. 

"  Hush,  Rose,  hush,  he  has  been  very  kind  to  come 
with  this  sorrowful  news." 

"  Yes,  mother,  he's  going  right  off,  so  don't  cry  any 
more." 

Mrs.  Mason  reached  forth  her  hand ;  she  was  a  tall, 
fine  woman,  with  bright  eyes,  that  tears  only  softened ; 
these  eyes  full  of  touching  sorrow  were  lifted  to  his. 
All  that  was  good  in  the  man's  nature  arose  in  response 
to  this  look.  His  hand  trembled  as  it  grasped  hers. 
He  could  have  fallen  on  his  knees  and  wept  over  it,  so 
great  was  the  power  of  love  in  a  nature  that  had  little 
else  to  soften  it.  But  the  eyes  of  the  child  followed  his 
movements  vigilantly,  and  he  dropped  the  mother's  hand 
with  a  deeply  drawn  breath. 

"  Give  the  gentleman  a  kiss,  my  little  Rose,"  whis- 
pered the  mother,  touched  by  his  humble  demeanor. 

Rose  turned  her  face  squarely  upon  him  and  lifted 
her  eyes.  He  met  their  clear  glance  and  dared  not  kiss 
her. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said,  standing  before  them  uneasily. 

"  Good-by,"  answered  Rose,  eagerly. 

"  When  you  are  better — when  you  are  a  little  recon- 
ciled, Ellen,  may  I  come  again  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  shouted  Rose,  waving  her  hand,  "  no,  no, 
no "  <* 


THE     WAY-SIDE     MEETING.  Ill 

"  Be  still,  Rose,  this  is  naughty.  Remember  he  was 
your  father's  friend." 

Rose  hid  her  face  and  b^gan  to  cry.  Thrasher  took 
the  mother's  hand  again,  dropped  it,  and  went  away, 
softened  and  almost  remorseful. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE   WAY-SIDE    MEETING. 

A  FOOTPATH  intersected  the  highway  some  few  rods 
below  Mrs.  Mason's  cottage,  and  ran  off  among  the 
hills  that  lay  behind  Castle  Rock.  At  this  point, 
Thrasher  paused.  He  had  only  reached  town  that  day, 
and  his  first  visit  had  been  to  the  white  cottage.  Now, 
he  thought  of  his  parents,  who  lived  on  a  farm  among 
those  hills,  and  of  another  person  whose  home  he  must 
pass  in  going  there. 

"  I  must  see  her,  of  course,"  he  said,  mentally ;  "  but  not 
at  once.  I  have  no  heart  for  another  scene.  But  the 
old  folks — that  will  be  all  joy — no  rebukes  or  entreaties 
ever  came  from  that  quarter.  They  will  be  hurt,  too,  if 
I  sleep  at  a  tavern,  and  the  homestead  so  near." 

With  these  affectionate  thoughts  urging  him  forward, 
he  turned  up  the  foot  path  and  walked  slowly  on,  won- 
dering at  the  tender  feelings  that  rose  and  swelled  in  his 
heart  as  he  drew  near  the  family  home. 

You  would  not  have  believed  that  the  man  who  walked 
so  quietly  along  the  greensward  with  the  moonlight  on 
his  face,  could  have  been  the  same  person  who  stood  on 


112  THE     WAY-SIDE     MEETING. 

the  deck  of  that  brig  and  superintended  the  number  of 
lashes  that  should  be  dealt  on  the  back  of  a  human  being. 
Once  or  twice,  as  his  glance  fell  on  some  familiar  object,  a 
sweet  brier  bush,  perhaps,  or  a  cluster  of  tall  mulleins  that 
had  grown  by  the  footpath  since  he  was  a  child,  his  eyes 
would  fill  with  tears.  There  was  something  holy  and 
homelike  in  the  stillness  that  made  a  child  of  this  cruel 
man. 

The  footpath  led  Thrasher  into  the  Bungy  road.  He 
had  mounted  one  hill  and  was  descending  into  the  valley 
which  lay  between  it  and  another,  when  he  saw  some 
dark  object  sitting  on  a  pine  stump,  from  which  he  had 
gathered  moss  years  before.  His  step  was  smothered 
on  the  sward,  and  the  night  wind,  which  made  a  rustling 
sound  among  the  leaves  of  a  neighboring  wood,  rendered 
his  approach  inaudible. 

It  was  a  woman  shrouded  in  a  cloak,  but  the  light  was 
so  clear  that  he  could  see  the  outlines  of  her  person, 
though  her  face  was  bent  down  and  hoik  limbs  were 
drawn  together  as  if  she  suffered  from  cold  or  sorrow. 

Thrasher's  heart  told  him  at  once  who  the  woman  was, 
and  the  knowledge  made  a  coward  of  him.  He  hesitated, 
turned  to  go  back,  but  resumed  his  course  again, 
ashamed  of  so  much  weakness.  The  woman's  face  was 
bent  down,  her  hands  were  locked  around  her  knees, 
and  he  could  hear  the  swell  of  her  sobs  as  she  rocked  to 
and  fro,  as  if  the  motion  gave  relief  to  some  great  pain. 

Thrasher  stood  close  by  the  unhappy  creature,  but 
she  was  lost  in  grief  and  did  not  look  up. 

"Katharine!" 

She  started  to  her  feet  with  a  cry  that  haunted  his 
memory  years  after,  and  stood  before  him,  shaking  in  all 
her  limbs.  Why  did  she  not  fling  her  arms  about  his 


THE     WAY-SIDE     MEETING.  113 

neck  as  she  had  done  at  parting  ?  Why  did  she  shrink 
and  gather  the  cloak  so  timidly  around  her  ?  Did  the 
shadow  of  some  great  wrong  fall  upon  her  with  its 
sundering  power?" 

"  Katharine,  you  know  me,  but  don't  seem  glad  that 
I  have  come." 

"  Not  glad — oh,  my  heart  is  dumb  with  joy !  I  thought 
. — I  feared  that  you  were  dead,  Nelson,  and  the  idea 
was  driving  me  crazy.  I  was  trying  to  pray  when  you 
came  up." 

She  stole  timidly  toward  him  and  held  out  her  hand. 

''Is  it  real — are  you  alive  and  here  ?  Oh  how  good 
you  are,  coming  to  our  house  the  first  moment  to  see 
me,  for  I  know  well  enough  you  did  want  to  see  me — 
while  I  was  doubting  if  you  would  care  about  me  after 
being  away  so  long,  and  wondering  what  I  should  do. 
You  are  not  changed,  Nelson ;  you  love  me  yet  as  well 
• — better  than  ever." 

There  was  something  in  the  girl's  manner  that  Thrasher 
did  not  understand.  She  seemed  frightened,  and  shrunk 
from  approaching  him.  This  was  so  unlike  the  childlike 
affection  with  which  she  had  hitherto  met  him,  that  he 
stood  looking  upon  her  in  surprise,  mingled  with  a  little 
irritation. 

''Why,  Katharine,  what  is  the  matter?  You  are  so 
changed — it  may  be  the  moonlight,  but  your  face  seems 
thinner  and  less  rosy.' 

She  turned  her  eyes  upon  him  with  a  wan  smile,  but 
did  not  answer  at  once. 

"You  have  changed,  perhaps,  and  found  some  one 
you  like  better." 

There  was  something  in  his  tones  that  stung  her ;  a 
hopeful  questioning  as  if  he  wished  rather  than  dreaded 
t 


11-i  THE     WAY-SIDE       MEETING. 

this  change.  She  looked  at  him  reproachfully,  and  her 
blue  eyes  floated  in  tears. 

"  Oh,  Nelson !" 

The  words  were  uttered  in  a  very  low  voice,  but  in 
their  quietness  lay  deep  pathos.  She  moved  close  to 
his  side  and  laid  one  hand  on  his  shoulder,  waiting:  for 

7  O 

him  to  return  the  caress.  He  placed  his  arm  lightly,  and 
it  seemed  half  reluctantly,  about  her  waist.  She  felt  the 
chill  at  her  heart. 

"  You  are  changed  1"  she  said,  in  a  loud,  clear  voice, 
that  sounded  to  his  ear  like  a  challenge.  "  You  come 
here  not  to  meet,  but  to  abandon  me." 

Thrasher  tightened  his  arm  around  her. 

"  Is  this  the  way  I  abandon  you  ?"  he  said. 

She  withdrew  herself  quietly  from  his  arms,  and  fix- 
ing her  eyes  on  his  face  gave  him  a  long,  sorrowful  look. 

The  moonlight  lay  full  on  his  features.  His  dark  e}Tes 
looked  into  hers ;  a  smile,  half  mocking,  half  pleasant, 
hung  on  his  lip.  He  was  a  tall,  handsome  man,  and  the 
moonlight  refined  his  face  into  remarkable  beauty. 

"  Are  you  trying  me,  Nelson  ?"  she  said,  half  return- 
ing the  smile.  "  Don't — don't — I  have  trouble  enough 
without  that." 

"  Trouble — was  there  ever  a  girl  of  your  age  without 
it,  I  wonder  ?  Come,  take  my  arm,  and  as  we  walk 
along  you  shall  tell  me  what  great  misfortune  sent  you 
here  crying  and  rocking  yourself  like  an  old  woman 
turned  out  of  doors." 

Katharine  tried  to  laugh  and  took  his  arm,  leaning  on 
it  with  that  half  caressing,  half  dependent  grace  which  a 
woman  who  loves  from  her  soul  assumes  unconsciously. 
Formerly,  when  her  arm  touched  his,  he  had,  at  a 
time  like  this,  taken  the  willing  hands  in  his  clasp,  but 


THE     WAY-SIDE     MEETING.  115 

the  touch  of  Ellen  Mason's  fingers  thrilled  his  nerves 
even  yet,  and  Katharine's  hand  drooped  helplessly  over 
his  arm. 

"  Now  tell  me  what  this  great,  great  trouble  is  ?"  he 
said,  walking  forward. 

"  Wait  until  we  get  into  the  shadow  of  the  woods, 
and  I  will,"  she  replied,  in  a  low,  choked  voice. 

They  walked  on  in  dead  silence,  entered  the  shadow 
of  the  wood,  paused  in  the  darkest  spot,  and  talked 
earnestly  together.  When  they  came  in  the  moonlight 
again,  Thrasher  looked  pale  and  angry.  He  walked 
fast,  sometimes  forcing  her  on  beyond  her  strength,  and 
cutting  up  the  silk  weed  and  nmlleins  in  his  path  with 
fierce  dashes  of  his  walking-stick.  Katharine  made  no 
resistance,  for  a  cold,  dead  silence,  which  shut  out  all 
joy,  had  fallen  on  her. 

They  came  to  a  little  brown  house,  under  the  shelter 
of  a  hill,  and  half  covered  with  morning-glories — a 
pretty,  rustic  place  in  which  Katharine  lived  alone  with 
her  mother.  A  board  fence  ran  along  the  front  yard, 
hedging  in  some  lilac  bushes  and  a  huge  snowball 
bush.  A  flower  bed  ran  along  each  side  of  the  walk, 
from  the  gate  to  the  door.  All  this  looked  pretty  and 
cool,  in  its  night  dew,  and  Thrasher  recognized  the  fa- 
miliar objects  with  something  like  a  pang. 

Katharine  withdrew  her  arm  from  his  at  the  gate ;  she 
tried  to  speak,  and  ask  him  to  go  in,  for  a  light  shone 
through  one  of  the  windows,  and  the  old  lady  was  evi- 
dently waiting  for  Katharine  to  come  home  before  she 
went  to  bed ;  her  lips  trembled,  but  refused  to  utter  the 
invitation ;  he  read  it  in  her  eyes,  however,  and  shook 
his  head. 

"  Not  to-night — another  time  we  will  talk  this  over." 


116  THE     OLD     HOME. 

They  parted  with  these  words,  and  Thrasher  walked 
on  at  a  more  rapid  pace  than  he  had  yet  used.  Katha- 
rine watched  him  mournfully  as  he  disappeared,  then, 
with  a  deep  sigh,  she  entered  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  OLD  HOME  AND  THE  OLD  PEOPLE. 

A  LITTLE  way  over  the  hill  from  Mrs.  Allen's  dwelling, 
stood  a  low,  red  farm  house  which  covered  a  good  deal 
of  ground,  and  possessed  many  pleasant  surroundings, 
such  as  marked  the  more  thrifty  class  of  farmers  in 
those  days.  Rows  of  stiff,  Lombardy  poplars  stood  in 
lines  before  the  house,  looking  more  like  mammoth  um- 
brellas, verdant  in  color,  and  shut  up  for  the  season, 
than  any  thing  else.  Tall,  cinnamon  roses  clambered 
up  the  front,  while  a  whole  forest  of  lilac  and  snowball 
bushes  cast  their  shadows  on  the  rich  sward  of  the  door 
yard.  At  the  back  was  a  fine  apple  orchard  which  filled 
the  air  all  around  with  the  delicate  perfume  of  its  blos- 
soms in  the  spring-time,  and  gave  out  a  rich,  fruity 
odor  in  the  autumn.  A  well  sweep  pencilled  its  slender 
shadow  along  the  plantain  leaves  that  grew  rank  at  the 
back  door,  and  beyond  that,  the  distant  outlines  of  a 
cider-mill  could  be  imperfectly  seen  through  the  orchard 
boughs. 

Every  thing  seemed  natural  to  the  stern  man,  as  he 
drew  near  the  homestead.  He  could  not  remember  a 
time  when  the  old  place  did  not  look  thrifty  and  com- 


THE     OLD     HOME.  117 

fortable,  as  it  appeared  then.  A  few  dry  branches 
bristled  here  and  there  among  the  poplars,  speaking  of 
progressive  age,  like  gray  hairs  in  the  head  of  a  strong 
man,  but  they  were  scarcely  perceptible  in  the  moon- 
light, and  Thrasher  could  see  no  change  since  the  years 
of  his  boyhood. 

The  family  sitting  room  was  back  of  the  house,  and 
through  the  windows  a  gleam  of  light  shot  along  the 
grass.  Thrasher  passed  through  the  yard,  and,  pausing 
beneath  the  window,  looked  in.  The  paper  blind  was 
partly  rolled  up,  and  he  thus  commanded  a  view  of  the 
entire  room. 

Two  old  people  sat  together  on  the  hearth,  where  a 
few  embers  lay  smouldering.  A  round,  cherry  wood 
stand  stood  between  them,  from  which  towered  a  mas- 
sive brass  candlestick,  supporting  the  only  light  that 
burned  in  the  room. 

The  old  lady  was  knitting.  What  a  sweet,  benign  ex- 
pression slept  on  her  face  !  How  softly  the  white  hair 
was  folded  under  her  cap  1  The  pure,  healthy  bloom 
on  her  cheek  was  something  wonderful.  It  made  you  in 
love  with  the  beauty  of  old  age. 

The  old  man  was  reading  aloud ;  the  great  family 
bible  lay  open  before  him,  and  his  deep,  reverential  voice 
could  be  distinctly  heard  through  the  imperfectly  closed 
window.  As  Thrasher  looked,  the  old  man  removed  the 
spectacles  from  his  eyes,  and  laid  them  on  the  page  he 
had  been  reading,  while  he  listened  smilingly  to  some 
observation  that  his  wife  had  made,  but  which,  with  her 
lower  and  softer  tones,  Thrasher  had  lost. 

"  How  many  times  have  we  read  this  chapter  together, 
Eunice — so  many  that  neither  you  nor  I  can  remember 
them ;  but  every  reading  brings  out  something  new — 


118  THE     OLD     HOME. 

something  more  holy  than  we  ever  found  before.     Isn't 
that  your  experience  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  old  lady,  taking  a  seauistitch 
with  serene  precision  as  she  spoke.  "  It  seems  to  me, 
husband,  that  one  never  learns  really  what  is  in  the 
Bible  till  old  age  comes  on.  When  we  were  young,  I 
can  remember  being  so  tired  when  the  morning  chapter 
was  read,  and  full  of  other  thoughts,  that  I  am  sorry  to 
remember  now.  That  is  the  reason  I  always  had  so 
much  charity  for  our  Nelson.  Poor  child,  he  never 
could  sit  still  through  a  whole  chapter — boy  or  man !" 

"I'm  afraid,"  answered  the  old  man,  with  a  heavy 
sigh.  "I'm  a 'most  afraid,  Eunice,  that  we  neglected  to 
perform  our  whole  duty  to  the  boy  at  the  start.  He  was 
such  a  bright  child,  that  we  wandered  off  into  ambition 
and  worldly  pride  where  he  was  concerned.  Now,  that 
we  are  getting  old,  and  a'most  as  good  as  childless,  this 
idea  troubles  me  more  than  a  little.  Maybe,  if  you  and 
I  had  been  a  little  more  strict  with  the  boy,  he'd  have 
got  over  them  roving  notions,  and  stayed  at  home." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  old  lady,  putting  on  her 
glasses  to  loop  up  a  stitch,  while  a  shade  of  trouble  came 
to  her  face.  "  It  seems  to  me  as  if  nothing  would  ever 
have  kept  Nelson  on  the  farm.  He  was  too  high  strung 
for  that.  But  what  then?  Every  body  isn't  of  the 
same  idea,  you  know ;  and  if  the  education  we  gave  our 
son  helped  to  unsettle  him  for  our  way  of  life,  it  fitted 
him  for  another.  Remember,  he  went  out  first  mate  this 
time." 

"  He's  a  brave  boy,  any  way,"  said  the  old  man,  kin- 
dling with  the  subject ;  "  and  if  the  season  of  grace  has 
not  reached  his  soul  yet,  we  must  only  pray  the  more 
earnestly." 


THE     OLD     HOME.  119 

"  Yes,"  whispered  the  mother.  "  Pray  without  ceas- 
ing, and  in  every  thing  give  thanks !" 

"  If  we  did  not  kneel  to  the  throne  of  grace  in  his  be- 
half so  often  as  we  might  have  done  in  our  younger 
days,  we  must  make  up  for  it  now,  for  our  son  will  some 
day  make  a  shining  light  in  the  house  of  the  righteous," 
continued  the  father.  "  I  feel  it.  I  know  it,  Eunice." 

The  old  lady  sighed. 

"I'm  afraid  that  even  now  I  pray  that  he  may  come 
back  to  his  home,  before  I  think  of  his  eternal  salvation, 
for  that  wish  is  always  uppermost  with  me." 

The  old  man  smiled  reprovingly,  and  shook  his  head. 

"Ah,  Eunice !" 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  sighed  the  mother,  confessing  her 
weakness,  with  a  deprecating  smile.  "  He  is  my  only 
child — all  the  precious,  earthly  blessing  we  have.  I 
can't  help  being  proud  and  fond  of  him." 

"  How  could  you,  when  I,  a  strong  man — one  that  the 
brethren  sometimes  look  up  to,  as  all  the  church  mem- 
bers will  admit — can't  keep  back  the  pride  of  having  a 
sou  like  that.  There's  no  denying  it.  Nelson  is  a  young 
man  that  must  put  a  temptation  of  pride  into  his  pa- 
rents' path.  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  were  a  stronger  man 
and  you  a  handsomer  woman  for  having  a  son  like  him." 

"  So  honorable,  so  handsome, "murmured  the  old  lady. 

"  So  strong  and  energetic,"  responded  the  father. 

"Ah,  if  he  would  but  come  onee  more  to  see  his  old 
father  and  mother." 

The  old  lady  bent  over  her  knitting,  and  pretended  to 
search  for  a  false  stitch,  but  it  was  only  to  conceal  the 
tears  that  swelled  tenderly  into  her  eyes. 

Thrasher  could  bear  no  more.  The  man  loved  his  pa- 
rents, and  those  soft  tears  in  his  mother's  eyes  brought 


120  THE     OLD     HOME. 

moisture  to  his  own.  How  innocent  and  childlike  the 
old  people  were,  in  comparison  with  him.  Satan,  when 
looking  over  the  flow'ry  walls  of  Paradise,  must  have 
felt  as  he  did,  listening  to  that  household  conversation. 

The  old  man  took  up  his  glasses  again,  and  began  to 
read.  The  mother  kept  on  with  her  work,  listening,  with 
meek  faith,  to  the  holy  words  that  fell  from  her  hus- 
band's lips.  All  at  once  she  started,  dropped  the  knit- 
ting in  her  lap,  and  listened. 

"  It  is  his  step !" 

The  old  man  raised  his  face  from  the  Bible,  and  lis- 
tened, also. 

"  Yes,  Eunice,  it  is  1" 

The  door  opened,  and  their  son  stood  on  the  threshold 
— a  strong,  handsome  fellow,  such  as  the  father  had  de- 
scribed him.  There  was  no  outcry  of  joy,  no  wordy 
demonstrations ;  but  a  tender  gladness  possessed  the 
old  people.  The  mother  kissed  him,  almost  timidly. 
There  was  something  that  awed  her  tenderness  in  this 
powerful  young  man,  though  he  did  tremble  in  her 
gentle  embrace. 

"  My  son,  you  are  welcome  home — oh,  my  son !" 

There  was  something  hearty  and  patriarchal  in  this 
welcome  of  the  father.  The  noble  old  Christian  that 
forgave  his  prodigal  son  must  have  spoken  much  after 
the  same  fashion. 

They  shook  hands — the  father  and  son — with  a  firm, 
lingering  clasp,  while  the  mother  looked  on,  smiling 
through  her  tears.  With  your  genuine  J^ew  England 
housemother,  hospitality  is  always  the  servitor  of  affec- 
tion. The  night  dew  lay  heavily  on  her  son's  garments. 
He  looked  pale  and  tired.  The  mother's  heart  rose  piti- 
fully in  her  bosom ;  she  insisted  upon  raking  open  the 


THE     OLD     HOME.  121 

fire,  and  getting  a  warm  cup  of  tea ;  even  went  so  far  as 
to  offer  a  cider-brandy  sling,  with  toasted  crackers  float- 
ing on  the  top. 

Thrasher  yielded  himself  to  her  tender  care.  It  was 
wonderful  how  submissive  and  grateful  that  strong- 
willed  man  had  become  under  womanly  influences.  He 
declined  tea,  but  accepted  the  glass  of  smoking  drink 
which  the  mother  prepared.  Soon  the  old  man  took  a 
tumbler,  also,  and  praised  it  greatly ;  for  religious  men 
and  elders  of  the  church,  in  those  times,  thought  it  no 
sin  to  make  themselves  comfortable  with  a  glass  of  hot 
drink  before  bedtime,  never  dreaming  that  their  limited 
indulgence  might  lead  to  excess  in  the  coming  genera- 
tion— excess  which  even  legal  enactments  have  failed  to 
remedy.  Having  no  fear  and  no  conscientious  scruples 
on  the  subject,  the  old  man  enjoyed  his  glass,  and  filled 
that  of  his  son  more  than  once ;  for,  somehow,  the  color 
would  not  come  genially  to  the  young  man's  face,  and 
after  the  first  glow  of  his  reception  had  passed  off,  he 
seemed  depressed,  almost  gloomy. 

The  old  lady  took  her  seat  again  on  the  patchwork 
cushion  of  blue  and  red  cloth  which  Thrasher  could  re- 
member from  his  childhood,  and  attempted  to  resume 
her  knitting ;  but  the  plump  little  hands  trembled  so 
much  that  she  gave  it  up,  and  drawing  back  into  the 
shadow,  had  a  sweet,  motherly  cry  all  to  herself.  It  was 
pleasant  to  hear  those  two  voices  blending  together  in 
their  talk.  It  was  heaven  to  know  that  the  whole  family 
sat  on  one  hearth  again.  She  could  not  be  thankful 
enough.  What  had  she  done  to  merit  so  much  happi- 
ness at  the  hands  of  the  Lord. 

This  pious  tinder-current  of  feelings  mingled  with  the 
conversation  as  it  went  on  between  the  two  men,  leaping 


122  THE     OLD     HOME. 

rapidly  from  subject  to  subject,  as  always  happens  when 
members  of  one  family  have  been  long  separated.  While 
the  mother  was  wrapped  in  dreamy  thanksgivings,  the 
old  man,  not  less  grateful  or  affectionate,  fell  to  ques- 
tioning his  son  about  his  voyage,  the  fate  of  the  ship, 
and  the  terrible  scenes  which  had  been  enacted  at  St. 
Domingo,  while  she  lay  in  the  harbor  of  Port  au  Prince. 

Thrasher  went  into  the  thrilling  details.  He  was 
naturally  eloquent,  and  the  intense  interest  manifested 
by  his  parents,  made  his  pictures  as  graphic  as  the  re- 
ality ;  but  another  person  might  have  remarked,  though 
his  parents  did  not,  that  he  avoided  mentioning  either 
his  own  share  or  that  of  Captain  Mason  in  these  exciting 
events. 

"  But  how  long  did  this  last,  Nelson  ?  Was  the  brig 
kept  in  harbor  all  the  time  ?  Some  of  the  neighbors 
began  to  fear  that  she  was  lost ;  but  your  mother  and  I 
hoped  and  prayed,  didn't  we,  mother  ?" 

The  mother  smiled  on  her  son,  answering : 

"  Nelson  always  knows  that  we  hope  and  pray  when 
he  is  upon  the  great  deep." 

"  But  where  is  the  brig  now ;  at  her  port  ?"  questioned 
the  father,  after  a  brief  pause. 

"  No,  we  were  compelled  to  abandon  her  ;  one  of  the 
most  terrible  storms  I  ever  faced  on  sea  or  land,  took 
us  unprepared.  It  swept  us  clean  from  stem  to  stern. 
Another  hour  and  we  should  have  gone  down  like  a 
handful  of  drift  wood — for  days  and  days  we  floated  on 
the  ocean,  no  sails,  our  masts  gone,  nothing  to  rig  new 
ones  with.  The  men  were  discouraged,  some  of  them 
threatening  mutiny ;  for  a  negro  and  a  little  boy  that 
came  on  board  at  Port  au  Prince,  the  only  creatures  that 
I  know  of  who  escaped  the  massacre,  were  missing  just 


9 


THE     OLD     HOME.  123 

after  the  storm,  and  the  fellows  would  believe  that  I  had 
something  to  do  with  it,  so  they  sulked  and  threatened 
until  I  began  to  fear  for  my  life.  Nothing  but  our  own 
great  peril  prevented  them  rising. 

"  At  last,  the  brig  sprang  a  leak,  and  what  with  work- 
ing at  the  pumps  night  and  day?  hard  commons  and  no 
drink — for  I  staved  the  casks  in — they  had  plenty  to  do 
without  turning  on  me.  It  was  enough  to  put  down  any 
rebellion  to  hear  the  water  rushing  and  gurgling  into 
the  hold,  faster,  a  great  deal,  than  all  hands  could  pump 
it  out.  SOj  while  working  for  their  own  lives,  they  for- 
got to  take  mine." 

"  Thank  God  for  this  great  deliverance,"  said  the  old 
man,  solemnly. 

The  son  paused  an  instant,  and  then  went  on. 

"  The  water  gained  on  us ;  we  worked  desperately, 
but  the  brig  sunk  lower,  and  lower,  till  we  had  scarcely 
a  hope  left." 

"  Then,"  whispered  the  mother  "  you  thought  of  us,  my 
son." 

"  Of  his  God,"  said  the  old  man,  devoutly ;  "  he  prayed 
to  God  and  so  found  safety." 

Thrasher  was  no  hypocrite  ;  he  remembered  how  dif- 
ferent the  scene  had  proved  to  any  thing  his  parents 
imagined,  and  felt  rebuked  by  their  simplicity. 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  did  think  of  you  both  with  an  ach- 
ing heart.  As  for  prayers,  we  sailors  have  little  time 
for  them.  But  I  was  telling  you  of  our  condition ;  it 
was  forlorn  enough.  The  men  gave  out  and  refused  to 
work.  Persuasions  went  for  nothing — threats  were  of 
no  use.  They  were  tired  out  and  wanted  to  die.  You 
have  no  idea,  father,  how  reckless  such  men  are." 

"  No,  sou ;  I  couldn't  imagine  it." 


124:  THE     OLD     HOME. 

"At  last,  when  all  was  given  up,  and  we  had  nothing 
to  do  but  die,  a  sail  hove  in  sight." 

"  Thanks  be  to  God  1"  ejaculated  the  old  man,  lifting 
his  clasped  hands,  while  tears  stole  softly  down  the 
mother's  cheek. 

" '  Sail  0 !'  That  was1  a  shout  which  filled  us  with  new 
life.  We  tore  off  our  jackets,  we  searched  for  fragments 
of  the  old  sails,  our  voices  rose  in  wild,  hoarse  shouts, 
that  sounded  awfully  along  the  waters.  At  first,  she  did 
not  see  us,  but  seemed  steering  another  way.  Our  de- 
spair broke  forth  in  one  mighty  shriek  I  It  reached 
them — we  could  see  a  commotion  on  the  deck.  Breath- 
less with  expectation,  grouped  together  like  so  many 
ghosts,  we  watched  her  slacken  sail,  and  bear  down  upon 
us.  Then  the  strongest  man  among  us  burst  into  tears  1 
That  moment  I  shall  never,  never  forget !" 

"Not  while  there  is  a  merciful  God  to  thank!"  said 
the  father,  shaking  the  tears  from  his  cheek  as  a  lion 
flings  dew-drops  from  his  mane.  Low  sobs  broke  from 
the  darkened  portion  of  the  room.  During  her  son's 
narration  the  good  mother  had  sunk  unconsciously  to 
her  knees,  and  lay  prostrate  before  her  God,  trembling 
with  thankfulness. 

Thrasher  went  on : 

"  We  took  to  the  friendly  vessel,  all  but  three  persons. 
They  would  not  leave  the  wreck.  No  persuasion  could 
move  them.  It  was  a  terrible  thing,  but  the  ship  sailed 
away,  leaving  them  to  their  fate !" 

"  And  who  were  these  men,  my  boy  ?" 

"Rice,  old  Mr.  Allen's  son." 

"  God  help  the  poor  woman." 

"  With  the  negro  and  boy  I  told  you  of.  They  had 
taken  the  boat  and  put  out  to  sea  alone — after  drifting 


BREAKFAST     IN    THE    HOMESTEAD.      125 

fire  or  six  days  hither  and  yon,  they  were  taken  up  by 
the  vessel  that  afterward  saved  us.  They  saw  the  wreck 
and  came  to  her  in  the  first  boat.  When  Rice  refused 
to  abandon  the  brig  they  sat  down  by  his  side,  and  so 
we  were  compelled  to  leave  them." 

"And  is  this  all  ? — did  yon  never  hear  of  them  again  ?" 
inquired  the  mother,  rising  to  her  feet. 

"No;  we  never  heard  of  them  after  that.  They 
di-ifted  off  with  the  wreck,  and  what  became  of  them  no 
one  can  tell.  " 

"  This  will  be  sorrowful  news  for  our  neighbor.  Hus- 
band, I  wish  some  other  person  than  our  son  had 
brought  it." 

Thrasher  arose  hastily. 

"  Good  night,  mother.  Shall  I  sleep  in  the  old  room  ?" 

His  voice  shook,  and  he  seemed  greatly  disturbed. 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  son.  You  are  tired  out.  Go  up  to 
your  old  room." 


CHAHTER  XV. 

BREAKFAST   IN   THE   OLD   HOMESTEAD. 

NELSON  THRASHER  could  not  sleep  under  his  father's 
roof.  The  neat,  high  posted  bed,  with  its  blue  and  white 
coverlet  that  he  had  slept  under  in  boyhood,  was  so 
familiar  that  it  seemed  to  reproach  him  in  its  homeliness 
for  the  great  change  that  had  fallen  on  himself.  The 
little  looking-glass  over  the  cherry-wood  dressing  stand, 
flashed  upon  him  like  a  human  eye  angry  and  fierce  at 
the  intrusion  of  a  guilty  man  where  an  innocent  boy  had 


126      BREAKFAST     IN     THE     HOMESTEAD. 

slept.  As  his  foot  touched  the  rag  carpet,  worn  smooth 
by  his  light  tread,  years  ago,  the  breath  paused  on  his 
lips,  and  the  stern  face  softened  into  sadness  so  deep, 
that  his  worst  enemy  might  have  pitied  him. 

That  instant  the  old  man's  voice  rose  solemnly  through 
the  stillness  of  the  night.  From  the  depths  of  his  heart, 
he  was  thanking  God  that  his  son  had  returned.  Every 
word  of  that  prayer  rose  to  the  son,  rebuking  him  to  the 
soul.  He  fell  upon  his  knees,  unconsciously  occupying 
the  very  spot  on  which  his  first  prayer  had  been  learned 
from  his  mother's  lips.  Bitter  repentance  swept  over 
him  for  the  minute,  and  covering  his  face  with  both 
hands,  he  cried  like  a  child. 

But  such  feelings  could  not  hold  that  stern  nature 
long.  When  the  old  man  ceased,  Thrasher  shook  the 
tears  from  his  eyes,  and  stood  up,  turning  his  face  away 
from  the  glass,  hating  that  it  should  reflect  the  workings 
of  which  he  was  even  then  ashamed.  It  was  useless  ; 
the  familiar  things  around  him  were  full  of  associations 
that  would  make  themselves  felt.  He  put  out  the  can- 
dle, and  got  into  bed,  his  eyes  filling  in  the  darkness  as 
he  lifted  the  coverlet. 

Still  he  could  not  sleep.  The  dear  old  objects  were 
all  shut  out,  but  the  home  feeling  was  too  strong.  For 
that  one  hour  he  was  almost  a  good  man. 

As  he  lay  in  the  darkness,  a  soft  tread  came  on  the 
Btairs,  and  the  door  of  his  room  swung  open.  He  knew 
all  about  it.  The  footsteps  were  his  mother's.  How 
often  he  had  heard  them,  in  childhood,  coming  up,  be- 
cause the  kind  woman  fancied  that  he  might  be  afraid, 
or  ill,  or  that  the  coverlet  had  slipped  from  over  him. 
Just  as  of  old,  she  glided  through  the  door  and  close  to 
the  bed.  He  feigned  sleep,  that  she  might  not  guess 


BREAKFAST     IN     THE     HOMESTEAD.      127 

how  much  he  had  been  acting  like  a  child.  She  stood 
beside  him,  full  of  motherly  tenderness,  yearning  for  a 
few  last  words  before  she  went  to  rest ;  but  with  gentle 
self-command,  waiting  for  some  sign  that  he  was  awake. 
When  she  found  that  his  eyes  were  closed  and  his  breath 
came  evenly,  she  bent  down  and  kissed  him  on  the  fore- 
head more  than  once,  whispering  his  name  to  herself,  as 
she  had  done  a  thousand  times  over  his  cradle. 

Still  he  did  not  move ;  the  kiss  stole  like  an  angel's 
whisper  through  his  heart.  For  the  moment,  it  sancti- 
fied him,  even  in  his  own  eyes.  This  did  not  appear  to 
awake  him,  and  the  mother  could  attempt  no  more. 
Still  she  lingered,  settled  his  pillow,  delicatety  as  a  bird 
smoothes  the  plumage  of  its  young,  and  tucked  up  the 
bed,  blessing  him  the  while.  It  was  not  chilly,  but  the 
action  put  her  in  mind  of  old  times,  and  she  loved  it. 

At  last  that  gentle  mother  glided  out  of  the  room, 
and  he  drew  a  deep  breath,  longing  to  call  her  back, 
confess  how  far  he  had  gone  astray,  and  become  as  a 
little  child  again. 

The  night  wore  on,  and  he  had  not  slept  a  moment. 
Many  thoughts  came  crowding  over  the  holy  ones  that 
possessed  him,  and  finally  overpowered  them.  He 
thought  of  Mrs.  Mason — his  first,  his  only  love — for  this 
truth  he  confessed  to  himself  over  and  over  again,  in 
the  stillness  of  that  night,  when  the  difficulties  of  his 
position  crowded  close  upon  him.  He  thought  of  Kath- 
arine Allen,  not  with  solicitude,  such  as  the  poor  crea- 
ture's fate  should  have  inspired,  but  bitterly,  harshly, 
for  she  was  a  stumbling-block  in  his  way,  an  object  al- 
most of  dislike.  Though  a  cruel  man,  Thrasher  was  not 
recklessly  so  to  women — thoughts  of  his  mother  always 
kept  him  from  that.  Still,  he  almost  cursed  Katharine 


128      BREAKFAST    IN    THE    HOMESTEAD. 

in  the  struggles  of  that  night,  for  she  stood  between  him 
and  the  great  desire  of  his  life — John  Mason's  widow. 
But  for  her,  he  could  make  a  brief  wooing,  settle  down 
by  his  old  parents,  and  without  temptations  to  evil 
courses,  become  a  man  of  power,  for  he  possessed  that 
which  enabled  him  to  accomplish  almost  every  thing,  an 
unlimited  control  of  wealth.  But  with  this  young  crea- 
ture in  the  way,  what  could  he  do  but  plunge  into 
schemes  that  brought  sin  and  peril  with  them,  such  as 
he  shrunk  from  encountering.  Abandon  his  father  and 
mother — go  off  to  some  unknown  country  with  the  wo- 
man of  his  love — cast  off  all  duties — leave  that  beautiful 
girl  to  die  of  grief — could  he  do  that  ? 

Thus  the  good  angels  and  the  evil  spirits  struggled 
over  that  man  all  night  long.  In  the  morning,  neither 
had  the  mastery.  On  ship-board,  the  guardian  angel 
would  have  been  driven  forth  at  once ;  but  under  his 
father's  roof,  there  was  something  of  heaven  which 
would  not  let  the  seraph  go. 

After  daylight  the  young  man  fell  asleep,  weary  with 
thoughts  that  still  left  their  shadows  on  his  forehead. 
The  mother  came  up  twice  to  call  him,  but  seeing  the 
weariness  in  his  handsome  face,  went  away,  holding  her 
breath,  and  walking  on  tiptoe. 

At  last  he  came  down-stairs,  and  found  the  old  people, 
with  the  table  spread  and  the  breakfast  dishes  standing 
on  the  hearth,  patiently  waiting  till  he  should  join  them. 

It  was  of  no  use  struggling.  Over  a  breakfast  table 
like  that  the  good  angels  held  control ;  nothing  worse 
could  hover  near  those  blessed  old  people  upon  their 
own  hearth-stone.  There  every  thing  spoke  of  the  old 
time — the  round  table,  covered  with  bird's-eye  linen, 
homemade,  glossy  as  a  snow  crust,  and  as  white.  The 


I 
BREAKFAST    IX    THE    HOMESTEAD.      129 

same  sprigged  china  and  quaint  teaspoons.  The  silver 
teapot — old-fashioned  even  then — had  been  brought  out 
for  the  first  time  in  years,  and  stood  emitting  dainty 
puffs  of  steam  between  the  andirons.  The  old  lady 
looked  at  her  son  and  at  the  teapot  witTi  conscious 
smiles,  which  said  plainly  as  smiles  could  speak,  "  You 
see  that  I  keep  nothing  back  when  my  son  comes  home, 
not  even  that  1" 

Thrasher  smiled  as  he  gathered  in  this  picture.  It 
was  the  smile  of  a  stern  character,  and  changed  his 
whole  face.  Rare  must  be  the  smile  which  makes  a  hu- 
man heart  leap.  You  never  heed  perpetual  sunshine, 
but  that  which  flashes  through  clouds  makes  itself  felt 
and  remembered. 

"  How  much  he  looks  like  his  father  now,"  thought  the 
mother,  while  the  old  man  held  out  his  hand,  and 
grasped  that  of  his  son  with  a  hearty  "  good-morning." 
"  Son,"  said  the  old  lady,  as  she  took  up  the  teapot, 
with  a  little  flutter,  like  that  of  a  bird  pluming  itself, 
"  now  that  we  are  all  together — the  whole  family,  you 
know — supposing  we  sit  down  at  once.  Your  father 
usually  goes  to  prayers  before  breakfast,  Nelson,  but 
we'll  just  put  it  off  till  afterward — don't  you  think  so, 
husband  ?" 

A  strong  sense  of  duty  alone  kept  the  old  man  from 
saying  yes,  at  once ;  but  he  wasn't  to  be  led  into  temp- 
tation by  the  fond  designs  of  that  precious  little  wo- 
man, not  he ;  nor  by  the  fear  that  his  son  would  rather 
not.  Morning  prayers  didn't  happen  to  be  duties  so 
lightly  disposed  of,  in  his  estimation.  He  motioned  the 
old  lady  to  leave  the  breakfast  where  it  was,  on  the 
hearth,  and  taking  the  great  Bible  from  its  stand,  began 
to  read  with  solemn  deliberation. 
8 


BREAKFAST  IN  THE  HOMESTEAD. 

Thrasher  liked  this ;  had  his  father  varied  in  any 
thing  from  the  steady  goodness  of  his  character,  it 
would  have  been  a  sad  disappointment  to  the  son ;  for 
such  persons  are  generally  the  most  keen-sighted  in  de- 
tecting the  'weakness  of  good  men.  Besides,  there  is 
something  holy  in  the  religious  associations  of  an  early 
home,  which  no  man  or  woman  can  see  disturbed  with- 
out pain. 

I  am  afraid  that  the  old  man,  in  compunction  for  a 
momentary  impulse  to  yield,  made  his  pra}7er  a  little 
longer  than  usual,  and  dwelt  elaborately  on  that  point 
which  asked  deliverance  from  temptation.  Certain  it 
is,  that  according  to  the  habit  of  the  times,  he  spoke  of 
himself  as  a  hardened  sinner,  and  confessed  to  short- 
comings and  taints  of  original  depravity  that  must  have 
made  the  recording  angel — who  had  set  down  nothing 
but  good  deeds  to  his  account  for  many  a  long  year — 
smile  in  benign  patience. 

Once,  as  the  good  Christian  gave  signs  of  prolonging 
his  devotions,  the  old  lady  turned  softly  on  her  knees 
and  pushed  the  dish,  which  contained  a  choice  delicacy 
for  her  son,  close  to  the  fire  ;  but  she  blushed  in  the  act, 
and  covering  her  face  the  instant  it  was  accomplished, 
whispered  "  amen"  at  the  end  of  a  sonorous  sentence  in 
which  her  husband  acknowledged  the  native  depravity 
of  every  soul  within  the  created  world. 

Still  Nelson  Thrasher  was  not  impatient.  Every  word 
of  the  old  man's  voice  thrilled  him  through  and  through. 
It  would  have  taken  something  more  than  that  to  up- 
heave the  stern  selfishness  of  his  character  to  any  pur- 
pose ;  but  manj7'  a  good  feeling  rose  to  the  surface  which, 
for  the  time,  made  him  a  better  man. 

They  sat  down  to  breakfast  at  last,  and  a  right  hearty 


BREAKFAST     IN    THE     HOMESTEAD.      131 

New  England  breakfast  it  was.  The  old  man  talked 
pleasantly  on  eArery  subject  that  came  up.  He  possessed 
a  clear,  energetic  mind,  and  had  read  a  great  deal  more 
than  was  common  to  his  class.  His  intelligence  was 
active  to  seize  on  any  food  that  presented  itself,  and  his 
son's  adventures  by  sea  and  land,  were  as  exciting  as  a 
romance ;  not  that  old  Mr.  Thrasher  knew  what  a  ro- 
mance was,  or  would  have  allowed  one  to  enter  his  door 
if  he  had.  Indeed,  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  had  disturbed 
his  rnind  a  good  deal  from  the  fact  that  it  was  not  an 
actual,  instead  of  an  ideal  truth.  As  a  great  many  con- 
scientious people  condemn  the  theatre,  but  fill  the  boxes 
of  an  opera,  every  night,  this  old-fashioned  Christian 
listened  to  his  son's  spoken  romances  with  infinite  zest. 
They  appealed  keenly  to  his  imagination,  which  found 
little  aliment  in  any  book  he  read,  except  when  it  seized 
upon  the  grandest  of  all  poetry — that  of  the  Bible. 

So  the  father  asked  questions,  the  son  answered 
them  pleasantly,  and  that  dear  old  lady  sat  smiling  upon 
them  both  from  behind  her  silver  teapot ;  convinced 
from  the  depths  of  her  heart  that  she  was  the  happiest 
and  most  good-for-nothing  old  mother  that  ever  di-ew 
the  breath  of  life,  and  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself 
for  not  deserving  all  this  joy  more  thoroughly. 

After  breakfast,  Thrasher  took  his  hat,  and  prepared 
to  go  out.  The  old  gentleman,  in  the  innocence  of  his 
heart,  proposed  to  accompany  him,  but  Mrs.  Thrasher 
began  to  nod  and  signalize  him  across  the  table,  and  he 
sat  down  rather  bewildered. 

"  Don't  you  see,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  a  sweet,  know- 
ing smile,  "  Nelson  is  sure  to  find  his  way  down  to  Mrs. 
Allen's — he  must  have  loved  us  very  much  to  come  by 
without  stopping  last  night.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that 
girl  kept  him  at  home  ?" 


132      BREAKFAST    IN    THE    HOMESTEAD. 

"  You  don't  say  so !"  exclaimed  the  father,  in  blank 
astonishment;  "well,  I  never  thought  of  that." 

"  Why,  don't  you  remember  how  often  he  used  to  go 
there  the  time  he  came  home  before  this,  and  how  he 
went  to  York  State  to  see  her  when  she  was  out  there 
with  her  uncle  that  winter,  going  to  school." 

"  Well,  wife,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  there  was  some- 
thing in  it,"  said  the  old  man,  going  to  the  window  and 
looking  after  his  son. 

The  mother  emitted  a  low,  mellow  laugh ;  she  was 
rather  proud  of  her  quicker  penetration,  and  patronized 
the  old  gentleman  accordingly. 

"  Why  of  course  there's  something  in  it,"  she  said, 
nestling  herself  up  to  his  side,  and  putting  a  lock  of 
gray  hair  back  from  his  temples  with  her  finger.  He'll 
hang  round  her  a  little  while — go  down  the  hill  two  or 
three  times  a  day  likely,  while  we  don't  seem  to  know 
any  thing  about  it — and  then  think  he's  surprising 
us,  when  he  says  that  he's  going  to  marry  Katharine 
Allen,  if  we've  no  objections.  Of  course  we  shan't  have 
any — for  she's  a  nice  girl  and  handsome  as  a  picture. 
Then  there'll  be  a  wedding  down  yonder.  You'll  buy 
the  wine,  and  I'll  find  the  cake.  Mrs.  Allen  has  got  lots 
of  homespun,  and  Nelson  won't  want  much  for  a  setting 
out,  for  this  house  isn't  badly  off  for  furniture,  and  I've 
been  thinking  of  a  new  cherry-tree  chest  of  drawers 
some  time." 

The  old  man  laughed  pleasantly. 

"  My  wife,  you've  got  them  married  and  to  house- 
keeping before  he's  crossed  the  top  of  the  hill." 

"  But  wouldn't  it  be  nice  ?  She's  a  smart  girl,  and 
might  take  a  great  deal  of  care  off  me.  As  for  Nelson, 
if  he  once  took  to  farming  what  a  hand  he  would  make 
at  it !" 


BREAKFAST    IN     THE     HOMESTEAD.      133 

"And  you  believe  all  this  ?" 

"  Why  shouldn't  I  ?  there's  nothing  unnatural  about 
it,  nor  wrong  either — besides  I  am  sure  Katharine  likes 
him." 

"Well,  wife,  any  thing  that  keeps  the  boy  at  home 
will  satisfy  me.  Marriage  is  an  institution  of  the  Lord, 
and  no  good  man  should  say  a  word  against  it." 

"  Of  course  not,  for  that  would  be  to  slander  our 
own  youth.  See,  there  is  Nelson  now,  looking  down 
toward  Mrs.  Allen's  house.  That's  him  under  the 
but'nut  tree.  He's  just  stepped  on  the  rock — you  re- 
member it.  I  wonder  what  he's  flirting  out  his  silk 
handkerchief  for  ?" 

"  It's  to  scare  off  the  crows,  I  reckon,"  answered  the 
father,  watching  the  movements  of  his  son  with  some 
curiosity,  "they're  greater  pests  than  ever,  this  year." 

"  No,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  it's  more  than  that.  See, 
something  moves  on  the  other  side  of  the  stone  wall. 
It's  a  woman — she's  climbing  over.  Why  don't  he  help 
her,  I  wonder  ?  Yes,  just  as  I  thought,  it  is  Katharine 
Allen.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 

"  Well,"  answered  the  old  man,  flushing  around  the 
temples.  "  I  say  it  isn't  likely  the  young  folks  think 
that  we  are  spying  after  them.  If  they  want  to  have  a 
talk  by  themselves,  I'm  sure  we've  no  objections.  You 
and  I  have  been  but 'nutting  together  in  our  lives,  haven't 
we  ?" 

I  am  not  sure  that  the  old  man  did  not  kiss  the  face 
that  was  lifted  smilingly  to  his.  There  was  no  one  by, 
and  he  was  so  very  happy  all  the  morning — who  could 
wonder  at  it  ?  The  old  lady,  at  any  rate,  made  no  ado 
about  the  matter,  but  nestled  a  little  closer  to  his  side, 
and  asked  "if  he  saw  Nelson  and  Katharine  yet?" 


134   BREAKFAST  IX  THE  HOMESTEAD. 

"  They  are  sitting  on  the  rock  together,  wife,  talking, 
no  doubt ;  but  we  must  not  be  watching  them.  Young 
folks  don't  like  that,  3rou  know." 

"Well,  only  just  say  that  you  think  there's  something 
in  it,  and  I  won't  turn  my  eyes  that  way  again ;  though 
it's  a  trial  for  a  mother  not  to  look  on  her  son  any- 
where, after  he  has  been  away  from  home  so  long." 

The  father  himself  seemed  to  feel  that  it  was  a  hard- 
ship, for,  after  walking  across  the  room  once  or  twice, 
he  came  back  to  the  window  where  his  wife  still  remained. 

"  See,  husband,  how  Katharine  jumps  up  and  seems  to 
be  wringing  her  hands.  What  can  ail  her  ?" 

"  Maybe  Nelson  is  telling  her  about  leaving  her  half- 
brother  on  the  wreck ;  that  is  enough  to  make  the  poor 
girl  wring  her  hands — as  for  Mrs.  Allen,  nothing  but  the 
grace  of  God  can  carry  her  through  this  trouble.  She 
hasn't  seen  her  son  for  years,  and  was  just  expecting  him 
home." 

"  Supposing  I  go  right  down  and  comfort  her,"  whis- 
pered the  good  woman,  her  heart  full  of  tender  pity. 
" Or  would  she  rather  be  left  alone,  I  wonder?" 

"  Wait  till  the  first  grief  goes  off;  after  that,  company 
may  do  her  good." 

"Poor  girl,  how  she  takes  on,  while  Nelson  sits  there 
as  if  nothing  was  the  matter.  No,  no,  I  am  wrong ;  he's 
taken  hold  of  her  hands.  He's  talking  to  her — how  kind 
of  him.  See,  Katharine  is  quieter  already.  She  sits 
down  again ;  I  know  well  enough,  if  any  thing  on  earth 
could  pacify  her,  he  could.  The  dear  boy !" 


A     PAINFUL     INTERVIEW.  135 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

A   PAINFUL   INTERVIEW. 

TRULY,  Catharine  Allen  had  sprung  to  her  feet,  and 
was  wringing  her  hands  in  wild,  bitter  grief,  at  the  news 
of  her  half-brother's  death,  for  such  she  considered  the 
account  Thrasher  gave  her.  True,  she  had  never  seen 
Rice  since  she  was  \  little  girl,  and  he  was  scarcely 
known  in  the  neighborhood,  as  Mrs.  Allen  had  moved 
to  her  present  home  with  her  second  husband,  and  her 
son  had  gone  to  sea  long  before  that.  In  her  second 
widowhood,  he  had  sometimes  sent  her  money  and  warm- 
hearted letters,  written  in  a  great,  cramped  hand,  which 
no  one  but  a  mother  could  have  read.  In  her  retired 
life,  Mrs.  Allen,  who  was  a  middle-aged  woman  when 
Katharine  was  born,  had  looked  forward  to  news  from 
her  son  as  the  great  event  of  her  life.  With  only  her 
house,  a  few  acres  of  land,  and  her  pretty  daughter's 
labor  to  depend  on  for  a  livelihood,  the  twenty  and  thirty 
dollars  which  came  to  her  from  this  son,  at  the  end  of 
each  voyage,  was  a  great  help.  Without  it,  the  widow 
and  her  beautiful  daughter  must  have  come  to  want, 
especially  when  sickness  was  in  the  house. 

Now  he  was-  dead — the  brave,  generous  man,  whom 
Katharine  had  been  taught  to  love  like  a  father ;  and 
even  while  Thrasher  told  his  own  story,  and  her  loving 
heart  was  almost  given  up  to  fond  credulity,  she  was 
not  quite  satisfied  that  Rice  might  not  have  been  saved. 
To  leave  him  on  the  wreck  even  at  his  own  request, 
seemed  to  her  a  terrible  cruelty. 

V 


136  A     PAINFUL     INTERVIEW. 

"  He  was  my  brother,"  she  said  ;  "  the  only  support 
we  had.  He  was  so  generous — so  good  to  us  both  I  Oh, 
Nelson,  you  should  have  saved  him !" 

"  How  did  I  know  he  was  your  brother,  Katharine  ? 
He  never  told  me  a  word  about  it ;  and  if  I  ever  heard 
the  name,  it  had  escaped  me." 

"  But  he  was  a  human  being ;  a  mother  waited  for 
him,  somewhere.  You  should  have  remembered  that." 

"  It  is  useless  talking  in  this  way,  Katharine,"  replied 
Thrasher,  striving  to  pacify  her  grief.  "  I  could  only 
have  saved  him  by  violence.  He  would  not  come  with 
us,  but  stuck  to  the  wreck,  under  some  wild  idea  that 
she  might  yet  be  taken  into  port.  I  could  have  died 
with  him,  but  nothing  beyond  that  was  possible." 

"  Oh,  my  mother  I  my  poor  mother !  must  I  tell  her 
this?"  moaned  Katharine. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  have  pleased  you  better  had  I 
gone  down  with  him  ?" 

"  You  ! — you !  Oh,  that  would  have  completed  our 
desolation !  The  news  would  have  killed  me  dead  !" 

"  Then  don't  attempt  to  make  me  out  a  murderer." 

"  I  haven't— I  haven't !" 

"  Sit  down,  Katherine.  These  wild  gestures  will  be 
seen  from  the  house,  and  the  old  people  won't  know  what 
to  make  of  it.  Sit  down  and  compose  yourself.  This 
is  not  the  only  subject  we  have  to  talk  about." 

"  I  know  it — I  know  it ;  but  the  thought  of  carrying 
the  grief  to  my  mother  kills  me." 

"  This  is  childish — I  will  submit  to  it  no  longer," 
cried  Thrasher,  beginning  to  lose  patience.  "  Sit  down, 
I  say,  and  control  yourself!"  He  took  hold  of  her 
hands,  grasping  them  till  they  burned  with  pain,  and 
drew  her  forcibly  to  the  rock.  She  looked  at  him  breath- 
lessly ;  the  expression  of  his  face  frightened  her. 


A     PAINFUL     INTERVIEW.  137 

"  Now  that  you  can  be  still,"  he  said,  sternly,  "  I  have 
a  great  deal  to  say  about  our  conversation  last  night. 
Will  you  try  and  listen  like  a  rational  creature  ?" 

She  was  sobbing  bitterly,  and  could  only  give  an  as- 
sent by  a  motion  of  the  head. 

"  Well,  regarding  the  senseless  event  which  you  make 
so  much  of " 

"  Senseless,  Nelson  1"  She  looked  up,  as  the  words 
left  her  lips,  and  gazed  at  him  reproachfully  through 
her  tears. 

"  Yes,  senseless  I  What  else  could  an  act  like  that  be 
considered  ?  I  was  a  man — and  should  have  known 
better.  What  good  has  it  done  to  be  in  such  desperate 
haste  ?" 

"  What  good  ? — what  good  ?  Did  we  not  love  each 
other?" 

Something  like  a  sneer  came  to  Thrasher's  lip.  He 
longed  to  tell  her  the  truth.  It  seemed  the  surest  means 
of  putting  her  out  of  the  way. 

"  You  don't  speak,  Nelson.  You  look  strange  when 
I  say,  ' Did  we  not  love  each  other?'" 

"No-  wonder,  Katharine — why  should  you  ask  the 
question  ?  If  to  make  a  fool  of  one's  self  is  a  proof  of 
love,  you  have  it  1" 

"  To  make  a  fool  of  one's  self?"  The  poor  girl  turned 
white  to  the  lips  as  she  repeated  these  insulting  words. 
"  What  does  this  mean,  Nelson  ?" 

"  It  means  that  you  and  I  went  off,  like  a  couple  of 
dunces,  and  got  married !" 

Katharine  stopped  crying.  Surprise,  for  a  moment, 
kept  her  mute ;  but  directly  there  came  into  her  eyes  a 
proud,  almost  fierce  determination,  that  Thrasher  had 
never  witnessed  before. 


138  A     PAINFUL     INTERVIEW. 

"  Do  you  mean  this  ?"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  low,  clear 
voice,  that  made  him  start. 

"Mean  what?" 

"  That  you  are  sorry  for  having  married  me." 

There  was  something  in  her  face  that  startled  him — 
that  woman's  character  had  a  depth  and  strength  which 
he  had  not  dreamed  of  until  then.  It  was  not  his  habit 
to  evade  or  equivocate  much,  but  now  he  saw  the  ne- 
cessity. 

"  I  haven't  said  that,  and  did  not  mean  it,  my  spar- 
row-hawk. How  could  I?" 

"  Then,  what  did  you  say  ? — what  did  you  mean  ?" 

"Nothing,  except  that  it  was  a  great  folly — but  a 
very  pleasant  one — when  we  got  married  in  that  private 
way.  It  would  have  been  better  to  have  waited." 

"  But  it  was  you  that  urged  me." 

"  To  the  marriage,  but  not  the  secrecy,  that  was  your 
own  doings  entirely,  Kate.  I  wanted  you  to  go  at  once 
and  live  with  the  old  folks,  while  I  went  this  voyage,  but 
you  begged  and  pleaded  to  stay  with  your  mother,  and 
what  could  I  do  but  consent.  Of  course,  as  my  wife, 
you  must  have  lived  with  my  family,  so  you  preferred 
secrecy  and  your  mother.  It  was  a  foolish  arrangement 
altogether."  *, 

"  My  poor  mother  was  so  sad  and  lonely  then,  I  could 
not  bear  to  leave  her ;  besides,  I  did  not  dare  tell  her 
about  it  while  she  was  in  poor  health — she  would  have 
taken  on  dreadfully — for  somehow " 

"  Yes,  I  know  she  hated  me." 

"  No,  not  that ;  but  mother*has  strange  prejudices.*" 

"  I  should  think  she  had.  I  have  not  forgotten  her 
forbidding  me  the  house ;  but  for  that " 

"  What  were  you  saying,  Nelson  ?  your  voice  is  verv 
husky." 


JEALOUS     PANGS.  139 

"  I  was  saying  that  we  should  not  have  been  led  into 
the  weakness  of  this  concealment  if  she  had  been  more 
reasonable." 

"  Well,  if  it  was  a  weakness  or  a  sin  I  have  suffered 
for  it  keenly  enough,  Nelson.  While  my  mother  had 
those  hard  feelings  I  could  not  tell  her.  Oh,  Nelson,  it 
seemed  as  if  I  should  die  when  the  time  for  your  return 
came  and  we  heard  nothing  of  the  brig.  If  you  had 
been  lost,  what  would  have  become  of  me  ?  No  one 
would  have  believed  that  I  had  ever  been  married,  no 
matter  what  I  had  said." 

"  But  you  had  the  certificate  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  the  people  here  don't  understand  those 
things.  They're  used  to  a  publishment  and  all  that. 
They  never  would  see  the  difference  between  Connecti- 
cut and  York  State.  Then,  if  they  had  sent  to  my  un- 
cle he  knew  nothing  about  it,  you  remember,  and  could 
not  have  helped  me.  Besides,  I  didn't  even  know  where 
to  find  the  people  that  stood  up  with  us." 

"  Why,  child,  all  these  fears  are  nonsense.  The  cer- 
tificate is  enough." 

"  But  it's  all  of  no  consequence  now.  You  are  here 
and  we  can  speak  out.  It  isn't  like  a  poor  girl  being  all 
alone  without  knowing  any  thing  of  the  law." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

JEALOUS   PANGS   REGARDING   MRS.    MASON. 

THRASHER  sat  with  his  hands  clasped  over  one  knee, 
looking  thoughtfully  on  the  ground  as  she  spoke.     Kath- 


JEALOUS     PANGS. 

arine  had  nestled  close  to  his  side,  and  was  looking 
wistfully  into  his  face. 

"  There  isn't  any  trouble  now,  Nelson.  Mother  may 
be  angry  for  awhile,  but  it  won't  be  forever." 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Thrasher,  with  his  eyes  reso- 
lutely fixed  on  the  ground,  "  I  was  thinking  that,  as  it 
had  gone  so  far,  we  had  better  put  off  telling  about  it 
till  after  my  next  trip." 

Katharine  turned  white,  and  suddenly  shrank  away 
from  him.  He  did  not  seem  to  notice  it,  but  went  on  in 
the  same  even  voice. 

"  It  will  not  be  long — not  more  than  two  or  three 
months  at  the  most." 

Katharine  held  her  breath  and  listened,  but  sobs  were 
gathering  thick  and  heavy  in  her  bosom. 

"  Three  months ! — three  months  !  Oh,  Nelson  !"  and 
now  the  sobs  broke  forth  with  painful  violence. 

"  It  may  be  less  than  that — I  will  get  the  shortest 
voyage  that  can  be  found.  But  for  the  shipwreck  this 
might  not  have  been  so  necessary ;  as  it  is,  one  must  have 
a  little  money  to  go  to  housekeeping  with.  You  wouldn't 
have  me  ask  my  father  for  that?" 

"  No,  no.  Besides,  what  would  mother  do  without 
me  just  now — with  this  dreadful  news  to  bear  up 
against?"  cried  Katharine,  hushing  her  sobs. 

"  I  was  sure  you  would  see  the  whole  thing  in  this 
sensible  way,  dear." 

Katharine  wiped  her  eyes  and  made  a  miserable  effort 
to  smile. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  is  best.  But  what  if  something 
happens  to  keep  you  away  longer  ? — I  should  die  !  I 
should  die !" 

"But  nothing  can  happen.     If  it  should — that  is,  if  I 


JEALOUS     PANGS.  141 

do  not  come  back  in  three  months  at  the  furthest — 
take  your  certificate,  go  up  to  my  mother,  show  it  to 
her,  and  tell  the  old  folks  to  take  care  of  you  for  my 
sake  ;  for  after  that,  you  may  consider  yourself  a  widow  1" 

"A  widow?" 

"  Yes,  beyond  a  doubt ;  for  if  I  do  not  come  back  in 
three  months,  be  sure  that  nothing  but  death  keeps  mel" 

"  Don't !  don't  1"  cried  the  poor  wife,  lifting  her  hands 
as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow. 

"  Well,  well ;  there's  nothing  so  dreadful  about  all 
this.  One  would  think,  by  that  face,  you  saw  me  in  the 
water  now,  with  a  stone  at  my  feet." 

Again  Katharine  held  up  her  hands  and  shut  her  eyes. 
The  picture  was  too  dreadful. 

Spite  of  himself,  Thrasher  was  touched  by  this  evidence 
of  affection  ;  he  changed  his  position,  and  stole  his  arm 
around  her  waist. 

"  There,  now,  we  have  settled  all  this  terrible  business, 
and  can  talk  of  brighter  things,"  he  said,  caressingly. 
"  Have  you  seen  much  of  the  old  people  since  I  went 
away?" 

"  I  had  no  heart  to  go  there  often ;  but  sometimes  I 
saw  your  father  at  the  gate.  He  always  stopped  if  I  was 
there  when  he  rode  by  ;  and  when  mother  was  sick,  Mrs. 
Thrasher  always  came." 

"  Dear  old  lady !"  said  Thrasher,  with  emotion.  "  When 
was  she  ever  away  when  help  could  be  given  ?  Tinder 
all  circumstances  she  will  be  good  to  you,  wife  or  widow." 

"  Don't  use  that  word  widow ;  it  makes  me  cold." 

"  Yet  it  is  sometimes  a  pleasant  word,"  said  Thrasher, 
forgetting  her  presence  in  thoughts  of  another. 

"A  pleasant  word,  Nelson  ?" 

"Pleasant! — did  I  say  so?  How  strange  that  one's 
tongue  will  make  such  blunders." 


14:2  JEALOUS     PANGS. 

Katharine  was  thoughtful  for  a  moment.  Something 
in  her  husband's  manner  brought  back  the  feelings  she 
had  experienced  at  Mrs.  Mason's  house  the  night  before. 
Yague  spasms  of  jealousy,  that  culminated  in  a  sharp 
pang  when  she  remembered  that  the  beautiful  woman 
who  had  almost  taunted  her,  was  a  widow  now. 

"  Nelson,"  she  said,  awaking  from  her  grief,  for  there 
was  something  of  indignation  mingled  with  it  now, 
"  last  night  I  was  at  Mrs.  Mason's." 

"  Indeed  ?     Have  you  visited  her  often  ?" 

"  Only  when  I  went  to  get  news  of  the  ship ;  for  I  don't 
much  like  her." 

" Indeed  ?" 

"  No ;  she  hurts  one's  feelings  without  meaning  it,  I 
dare  say.  Her  haughtinessKeeps  every  one  at  a  distance." 

Thrasher  turned  his  face  away,  to  conceal  the  proud 
smile  that  broke  over  it.  He  longed  to  defend  the 
haughtiness  of  which  Katharine  complained — to  say  that 
it  was  the  birthright  of  Ellen's  great  superiority  over 
all  other  women.  But  he  checked  the  impulse  and  only 
answered : 

"  Perhaps  it  is  so.  I  have  seen  very  little  of  her  since 
she  married  that — that — I  mean  since  she  married 
Captain  Mason." 

"  She  told  me  something  last  night  that  surprised  me." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  She  said  that  you  had  loved  her  before  she  accepted 
Captain  Mason,  and  that  she  refused  you." 

"Ah,  she  told  you  that ;  and  did  her  ladyship  tell  you 
why  she  took  Mason  instead  of  me?" 

"  Because  you  was  a  third  or  second  mate,  I  forget 
which,  and  he  was  a  captain ;  that  was  the  reason  she 
gave — but  you  speak  as  if  it  were  true." 


JEALOUS     PANGS.  143 

"  Well,  when  I  say  that  I  had  never  been  to  sea  in  my 
life  when  John  Mason  married  Ellen  Palmer,  you'll 
probably  believe  this  nonsense." 

"  Then  it  was  not  true !"  cried  Katharine,  smiling 
happily  the  first  time  that  day. 

"When  women  boast  of  their  conquests,  they  seldom 
are  true,  Kate." 

"  But  how  unfeeling  to  say  all  this  to  me,  your  wife  1" 

"  She  didn't  know  that ;  with  a  secret  like  ours,  one 
is  always  getting  into  trouble,  Kate  ;  as  for  this  haughty 
woman,  I  would  not  go  near  her  again — she'll  find  you 
out  in  no  time." 

Katharine  smiled  with  a  little  bitterness. 

"  I  suppose  she  would,  for  when  the  heart  is  full,  it  is 
hard  to  look  calm.  Last  night  I  longed  to  tell  the 
woman  to  her  face,  that  I  had  a  right  to  inquire  after 
you — just  as  good  a  right  as  she  had  to  be  taking  on 
about  her  husband." 

"  But  you  did  not  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.  I  only  sat  and  cried.  The  little 
girl  seemed  to  grudge  me  that  comfort,  for  she  said  I 
had  no  husband  nor  father  off  to  sea,  and  she  couldn't 
tell  what  I  wanted  to  cry  for  like  her  own  mother." 

"  The  little  fool !"  sneered  Thrasher.  "  So  they  were 
having  a  general  season  of  mourning,  because  Mason 
did  not  present  himself?" 

"Not  exactly  that,"  said  Katharine;  "still,  I  was 
sorry  for  Mrs.  Mason  and  the  little  girl,  for  they  felt  bad 
enough ;  and  now,  when  you  are  safe — when  I  ought  to 
be  so  happy — it  is  a  shame  to  talk  over  their  faults.  I 
dare  say  she  didn't  mean  any  thing.  Such  women  some- 
times fancy  that  men  want  to  offer  themselves  who  never 
had  the  idea.  Besides,  I  told  Mrs.  Mason  to  her  face 
that  I  didn't  believe  a  word  of  it." 


144       MRS.    MASON'S    RICH    UNCLE. 

Thrasher  laughed. 

"And  so  you  managed  to  get  up  a  little  sparring- 
match  between  you,  and  all  upon  my  account?" 

"  Not  quite  that,"  answered  Katharine,  laughing  also. 
"But  I  was  so  disappointed  that  every  thing  went 
wrong.  Besides,  it's  no  use  denying  it,  Mrs.  Mason 
made  me  angry.  The  idea  of  a  married  woman  speak- 
ing of  her  offers !  But  then,  you  never  did  make  her 
an  offer — and  I  knew  it." 

"  Well,  any  way,  you  have  a  pretty  sure  safeguard 
that  I  never  shall  make  her  one." 

Katharine's  face  brightened  beautifully.  She  looked 
toward  him  with  a  long,  steady  glance  of  affection. 
Tears  trembled  on  her  long  lashes,  and  shone  like  dew 
where  they  had  fallen  on  the  damask  of  her  cheek.  But 
the  smile  upon  her  mouth,  and  the  tenderness  in  her 
eyes,  were  enough  to  excuse  any  man  for  remembering, 
just  then,  that  she  was  his  own  wife. 

Thrasher  drew  her  toward  him,  and  kissed  her  with 
hearty  wai'mth  for  the  first  time  since  his  return  home. 

I  am  afraid  the  dear  old  people  standing  by  the  win- 
dow saw  it,  for  they  looked  at  each  other  slyly  and 
turned  away. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

MRS.  MASON'S  RICH  UNCLE  IN  THE  SOUTH. 

"MOTHER!" 

"  Well,  Katharine  ?" 

"Nelson  Thrasher  came  home  last  night." 


MRS.  MASON'S   RICH   UNCLE.      145 

"Better  have  stayed  away!"  answered  the  stern  old 
lady,  thrusting  her  knitting-needle  into  the  goose-quill 
tube  of  her  sheath,  which  was  fastened,  like  the  leaf  of 
some  great,  red  flower,  oa  the  right  side  of  her  waist. 
"  ]S"o  good  ever  followed  his  coming,  that  I  ever  heard  of." 

The  color  came  into  Katharine's  face  at  this,  for  no 
woman  likes  to  hear  the  man  she  loves  spoken  lightly 
of.  Still  she  was  striving  to  lead  her  mother's  mind 
quietly  to  the  bad  news  which  lay  heavy  at  her  own 
heart,  and  did  not  feel  the  scornful  tones  in  which  the 
words  were  spoken,  as  she  would  have  done. 

For  a  little  time  there  was  no  sound  save  the  rattle  of 
Mrs.  Allen's  needle  in  its  sheath,  which  grew  quicker 
and  sharper  each  moment — a  sure  sign  that  the  old  lady 
was  disturbed  in  her  mind.  After  knitting  twice  round 
the  top  of  a  mixed  stocking  with  unceasing  vigor,  amid 
a  great  click  and  rattle  of  the  needles,  she  drew  a  length 
of  yarn  from  the  ball  in  her  lap,  with  a  jerk,  and  com- 
menced again  more  deliberately.  Katharine  sat  still, 
for  she  knew  that  this  was  preliminary  to  a  renewal  of 
the  conversation.  The  first  words,  however,  came  out 
with  a  suddenness  that  made  her  start. 

"  Have  you  seen  that  fellow  ?" 

Katharine  could  keep  a  secret,  to  her  sorrow,  poor 
thing ;  but  she  was  incapable  of  a  direct  falsehood,  so 
she  answered  truly,  but  with  a  quiver  of  fear  in  her 
voice. 

"Yes,  mother,  he  overtook  me  on  my  way  home  from 
Mrs.  Mason's,  last  night." 

"  You  saw  him  last  night,  last  night,  and  got  no  word 
of  my  son.  Where  is  he — when  will  he  come,  Katha- 
rine Allen?  You  could  not  have  forgotten  to  ask." 

"  No,  mother ;  but  I — I  was  afraid  to  say  any  thing — • 
9 


116       MKS.  MASON'S    RICH    UNCLE, 

indeed,  I  did  not  know  until  this  morning,  for  I  saw  him 
under  the  great  butternut  tree  by  the  road,  and  went 
out — I  did  not  know  what  sad  news  he  brought." 

"  Sad  news  of  my  son  1"  cried  the  woman,  drawing 
herself  up  as  if  to  ward  off  a  blow ;  "  did  you  say  sad 
news,  Katharine  ?" 

"Yes,  mother,"  answered  the  beautiful  girl,  stealing 
close  to  the  high-backed  chair  that  her  own  face  might 
be  concealed,  but  her  voice  and  limbs  shook  with  the 
emotion  she  strove  to  suppress,  and  this  the  old  woman 
felt  to  the  core  of  her  heart. 

"  Is  my  son  dead  ?"  she  inquired,  in  a  deep,  hoarse 
voice. 

"I  fear  so,  mother." 

"  Fear  !  if  you  are  not  sure,  speak  out.  Can't  you  see 
that  I  must  know,  or — or  drop  dead  in  my  chair  !" 

"  They  were  wrecked.  My  brother,  my  poor,  poor 
brother  would  not  abandon  the  vessel.  They  were  com- 
pelled to  leave  him." 

«  They— who  ?" 

"  Every  soul  on  board — no,  I  remember  a  negro  and 
a  little  boy  stayed  with  him." 

"And  the  man  Nelson  Thrasher  left  my  son  on  the 
stormy  seas  to  die  ?" 

"  No,  no,  he  only  went  with  the  rest ;  besides,  he  did 
not  know,  'till  I  told  him,  that  David  was  my  bi'other, 
or  your  son." 

"And  they  left  him  alone  on  the  high  seas  to  starve 
or  drown,"  said  the  old  woman,  hoarsely.  "  Katharine 
Allen,  never  mention  that  man's  name  to  me  while  you 
live.  If  you  see  him  passing  my  house,  give  warning, 
that  I  may  turn  away  and  not  curse  him." 

"  Oh  I  mother,  mother  1" 


MRS.  MASON'S    RICH    UNCLE.       147 

"Be  still,  girl!" 

The  old  woman's  face  was  bloodless  as  parchment. 
She  tried  to  go  on  with  her  work,  but  it  fell  from  her 
hands,  while  she,  unconscious  of  the  loss,  kept  on  with 
the  motion  of  knitting,  and  looked  down  with  her  heavy 
black  eyes  as  if  she  were  counting  the  stitches  that  were 
only  made  in  air. 

"  Mother,  dear  mother !" 

The  old  lady  did  not  speak,  but  the  two  hands 
dropped  heavily  in  her  lap,  and  her  face  fell  down  upon 
her  bosom.  The  stillness  of  her  grief  was  appalling. 
Katharine  knelt  before  her,  pale  as  death. 

"  Ob,  mother,  speak  to  me  1" 

All  at  once  the  old  woman  sat  upright. 

"  Katharine  Allen,  tell  me  word  for  word  what  that 
man  said  to  you  of  my  son  David." 

"  Be  composed,  don't  look  so  hard,  and  I  will — you 
shake  so,  mother." 

"  No,  I  do  not  shake.  Pick  up  that  knitting  needle. 
There,  do  I  knit  evenly  ?"  She  placed  the  needle  in  its 
sheath,  and  began  taking  her  stitches  with  slow  pre- 
cision. 

True  enough,  her  nerves  were  braced  like  steel,  and 
like  steel  were  her  features  locked.  Katharine,  poor 
soul,  repeated  what  Thrasher  had  told  her  of  the  ship- 
wreck, faithfulty ;  softening  it  with  the  sweet  tenderness 
of  her  voice,  and  putting  in  a  word  of  excuse  here  and 
there.  Then  she  carae  to  the  end,  and  told  how  that 
little  boy  and  his  noble  slave  insisted  upon  staying  with 
Bice,  after  they  had  been  saved  from  the  very  jaws  of 
death — a  terrible  death — like  that  which  threatened  him. 

Now  the  old  woman's  heart  began  to  heave,  and  her 
great,  heavy  eyes  kindled  with  living  fire. 


148       MRS.  MASON'S    RICH    UNCLE. 

"  Katharine,"  she  said,  "  were  these  three  martyrs 
alive  when  the  cowards  left  them?" 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  Brave  spirits,"  cried  the  old  lady,  rising  suddenly. 
"  They  were  in  the  hands  of  a  merciful  God,  and  he  will 
save  them  !  We  will  not  mourn  David  as  lost  till  that 
wreck  is  heard  from.  He  is  wise,  and  had  courage. 
Had  there  been  no  hope  he  would  have  left  with  the 
rest." 

Katharine's  face  brightened. 

"  Oh,  mother,  if  it  should  prove  so  I" 

"  God  did  not  inspire  that  brave  child  and  the  negro 
to  stand  by  him  for  nothing.  I  feel  that  he  is  alive  in 
the  return  of  my  own  strength.  When  a  strong  man 
dies,  his  mother  should  feel  weak,  though  he  were  a 
thousand  miles  off.  But  I,  look,  am  I  feeble  and  droop- 
ing, as  if  the  staff  of  my  age  "were  torn  from  under  me. 
If  I  stand  upright,  it  is  because  he  was,  he  is  a  good 
man.  If  I  feel  a  power  of  vitality  here,  it  is  a  proof 
that  kindred  life  beats  somewhere  in  response  to  it." 

Katharine  gazed  at  her  mother  in  astonishment. 
There  was  something  sublime  in  her  great  faith,  a 
grandeur  in  her  attitude  like  that  which  we  give  to  a 
prophetess  of  the  Bible.  In  her  language  and  voice  she 
seemed  lifted  out  of  herself. 

Katharine  always  held  her  mother  in  profound  rever- 
ence, in  which  love  and  fear  were  so  equally  blended, 
that  she  was  seldom  quite  at  rest  in  her  presence.  Now 
these  feelings  arose  almost  to  religious  exaltation. 
With  all  the  softening  influence  of  love  and  youth 
about  her,  she  possessed  many  of  the  vigorous  and 
noble  traits  which  gave  the  old  woman  an  acknowledged 
Buperiority  in  the  neighborhood.  With  her  mother's  faith 


MRS.  MASON'S   RICH    UNCLE.       149 

her  hopes  arose,  and  coming  out  of  their  deep  grief  the 
two  sat  down  together,  and  strove  to  wrest  some  assur- 
ance of  the  son  and  brother's  safety  from  the  news  that 
had  reached  them. 

"  He  is  alive — I  feel  that  he  is  alive — my  noble,  strong 
boy  I"  said  the  old  woman,  as  she  laid  her  head  on  the 
pillow,  but  a  heavy  fear  lay  at  her  heart  all  the  time. 

"  He  was  alive,  and  while  there  is  life  we  may  hope," 
whispered  Katharine,  sadly,  as  she  sank  to  an  unquiet 
sleep.  A  heavier  sorrow,  alas,  lay  upon  her  ;  the  sorrow 
of  a  corroding  secret  which  the  last  few  hours  had  ren- 
dered almost  a  guilty  burden  from  the  new  causes  of 
detestation  that  had  sprung  up  between  her  mother  and 
the  man  she  had  so  rashly  married. 

Thus  every  thing  conspired  to  keep  that  young  crea- 
ture silent — Thrasher's  request  and  the  mother's  preju- 
dices, made  more  bitter  by  that  man's  desertion  of  her 
son  in  his  hour  of  need,  kept  the  secret  weighed  down 
in  her  bosom.  True,  this  prejudice  seemed  very  unrea- 
sonable ;  no  one  had  compelled  Rice  to  remain  on  the 
wreck.  The  same  means  of  escape  which  brought  the 
others  home  in  safety  was  free  to  him ;  but  a  feeling 
stronger  than  facts  possessed  the  old  lady.  Dead  or 
alive,  she  believed  that  some  treachery  had  been  prac- 
ticed on  her  son,  and  that  the  traitor  was  Nelson 
Thrasher. 

Katharine  remembered  that  the  man  was  her  husband 
— that  in  a  few  months  she  might  be  called  upon  to 
choose  between  the  mother  whom  she  regarded  with 
loving  reverence  and  the  husband  whom  she  almost 
adored.  No  wonder  the  poor  girl  shrunk  from  the  mo- 
ment which  was  to  force  the  heart-rending  decision  upon 
her.  It  was  a  terrible  position  for  one  so  young  and  so 


150       MRS.  MASON'S    RICII    UNCLE. 

helpless.  Between  these  two  strong,  positive  charac- 
ters, there  was  little  hope  of  tranquillity  for  her,  even 
though  a  partial  reconciliation  should  take  place. 

One  gleam  of  consolation  did  break  upon  her  that 
night,  when  she  remembered  her  mother's  faith.  David 
Rice  was  as  good,  as  noble-hearted  a  man  as  ever  drew 
breath.  It  was  the  forlorn  hope  that  he  yet  lived,  and 
would  mediate  for  her  and  her  husband  with  the  stern 
mother. 

It  was  impossible  for  Thrasher  to  visit  Mrs.  Allen's 
house ;  Katharine  told  him  so  on  their  next  interview. 
Thus  the  young  wife  had  no  cause  to  complain  that  he 
spent  but  little  time  with  her,  and  seemed  both  occupied 
and  anxious  when  they  did  meet. 

After  the  news  which  had  disturbed  her  so,  the  old 
lady  kept  her  room,  and  all  the  duties  of  the  house  fell 
upon  Katharine,  so  that  she  had  little  opportunity  to  go 
any  distance  from  home,  and  the  gossip  of  the  neigh- 
borhood seldom  reached  her. 

Indeed,  there  was  almost  nothing  for  her  to  hear. 
Thrasher  held  very  slight  intercourse  with  the  neigh- 
bors ;  and  as  his  father's  farm  was,  like  Mrs.  Allen's 
house,  isolated  among  the  hills,  they  knew  little  of  his 
movements.  That  he  occasionally  was  seen  going  down 
the  footpath  that  led  to  Mrs.  Mason's  cottage  in  the 
pine  woods,  counted  for  nothing.  Mason  had  been 
his  captain,  and  it  was  but  kind  and  right  that  he  should 
offer  sympathy  to  the  widow.  All  the  neighborhood  was 
excited  to  pity  in  her  behalf.  What  could  she  do,  so 
proud  and  helpless,  with  that  pretty  child  to  support  ? 

The  widow  was  very  desponding  at  first,  and  went 
about  the  house  mournfully,  her  beautiful  eyes  heavy 
with  tears,  and  her  red  lips  ready  to  tremble  if  any  one 


MRS.  MASON'S    RICH    UNCLE.      151 

spoke  to  her.  Compassion  for  her  became  general.  The 
kind  farmers  stopped  on  their  way  from  mill,  and  insisted 
on  leaving  a  baking  of  flour  at  the  gate.  Pretty  girls 
came  with,  their  aprons  full  of  newly -laid  eggs;  and  a 
little  fellow,  diverging  every  morning  from  his  way  to 
school,  set  a  small  tin  pail,  bright  as  silver,  through  the 
fence,  and  ran  away  as  if  he  had  been  stealing.  The 
pail  always  contained  milk,  with  more  cream  in  it  than 
ever  came  there  naturally,  and  sometimes,  on  the  grass 
close  by  it,  Mrs.  Mason  found  a  roll  of  golden  butter 
folded  up  in  a  cool  cabbage  leaf. 

"Was  it  these  kindnesses  that  softened  the  widow's 
grief,  and  brought  the  rich  bloom  back  to  her  cheek  so 
early  after  her  loss  ?  or  had  she  some  hidden  source  of 
consolation  which  kindled  her  face  into  more  superb 
beauty,  as  the  earth  looks  fresher  and  more  heavenly 
after  a  tempest  ?  Certain  it  was,  her  step  soon  regained 
its  firmness,  and  her  person  its  haughty  poise.  She 
spoke  of  Captain  Mason  less  frequently,  and  there  was 
in  her  manner  something  that  surprised  the  good  neigh- 
bors and  repelled  their  sympathies.  She  seemed  ashamed 
of  the  meagre  attempts  at  mourning  that  she  had  been 
enabled  to  make ;  and  exhausted  quantities  of  vinegar 
and  cold  tea  in  refreshing  bits  of  French  crape  and 
breadths  of  bombazine,  which  woiild  look  worn  and  rusty 
spite  of  all  she  could  do,  and  this  brought  tears  into 
her  eyes  when  they  had  ceased  to  weep  for  deeper  cares. 

But,  as  I  have  said,  after  awhile  all  her  beauty  and 
animation  came  back.  She  began  to  talk  hopefully  of 
an  uncle,  who  lived  away  off  in  the  South,  who  would, 
perhaps,  send  for  her  and  little  Rose,  when  he  received 
her  letter,  informing  him  of  the  helpless  state  in  which 
they  had  been  left.  No  one  of  the  neighbors  had  ever 


152       MRS.    MASON'S   DEPARTURE. 

heard  of  this  uncle  before,  and  her  constant  boasting 
about  his  wealth  and  the  style  in  which  he  lived,  rather 
set  them  aback.  It  cast  their  own  little  kindness  quite 
into  the  shade.  How  could  they  offer  fresh  eggs  and 
rolls  of  butter  to  a  woman  who  wore  her  cheap  black 
dress  like  a  queen,  and  talked  of  pearls  and  diamonds 
all  the  day  long,  as  if  she  had  discovered  a  mine,  and 
wanted  to  find  out  its  exact  value. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

MBS.    MASON   LEAVES   THE   PINE   WOODS. 

AT  last,  Mrs.  Mason  announced  that  the  expected  let- 
ter had  arrived,  with  money  for  her  expenses  to  the 
South — she  never  told  the  exact  locality — and  that  she 
and  little  Rose  would  set  forth  at  once,  taking  the 
steamboat  from  New  Haven  to  New  York,  where  her 
passage  southward  was  already  engaged. 

All  this  was  very  magnificent  and  almost  startling, 
but  corroborated  by  a  supply  of  money  which  the 
widow  evidently  possessed,  and  by  the  disposition  of  her 
little  household  furniture,  which  she  distributed  among 
her  friends  with  the  careless  prodigality  of  a  princess. 

The  preparations  for  her  departure  went  on  spiritedly. 
With  nothing  to  prepare ;  for  all  her  new  mourning 
dresses,  she  announced,  were  to  be  made  in  New  York ; 
it  was  only  packing  a  small  trunk,  and  taking  leave  of 
the  old  neighbors,  and  she  was  ready  with  little  Rose 
to  go  forth  into  her  new  life.  A  neighbor  had  been  en- 


MRS.    MASON'S   DEPARTURE.       153 

gaged  to  take  her  to  town  in  a  dashing,  one  horse 
wagon,  which  he  had  just  bought,  and  in  this  way  the 
whole  arrangement  promised  to  go  off  with  the  eclat 
which  the  widow  Mason  always  affected. 

Thus  time  passed  until  the  night  before  her  journey. 
The  furniture  had  not  yet  been  removed,  and  every  thing 
retained  the  old  homelike  aspect;  from  any  appearance 
of  confusion  that  existed,  you  would  have  fancied  that 
the  mistress  of  the  house  was  only  going  out  for  a  morn- 
ing drive.  She  seemed  rather  elated  than  otherwise, 
and  received  her  friends  with  half  royal  condescension, 
not  absolutely  offensive,  but  calculated  to  check  the 
honest  grief  with  which  old  neighbors  parted  on  those 
days  when  a  household  was  breaking  up.  Many  kind 
wishes  were,  however,  exchanged,  little  presents  were 
brought  in,  such  as  patchwork  holders,  work  bags,  and 
pincushions,  besides  a  pair  of  fine,  lambs'  wool  mittens, 
knitted  by  the  oldest  woman  in  the  town,  was  presented 
to  her  with  a  gentle  message  of  farewell,  followed  by 
various  other  trifles,  calculated  to  appeal  eloquently  to 
a  kind  heart.  All  these,  the  widow  received  with  con- 
cealed and  smiling  indifference,  thinking  in  her  soul 
how  paltry  such  things  were  to  a  person  of  her  expec- 
tations. 

But  little  Rose  made  up  for  all  her  mother's  lack  of 
feeling.  She  was  broken-hearted  at  the  thought  of  leav- 
ing her  playmates,  burst  into  tears  when  the  old  people 
patted  her  on  the  head,  and  refused  to  be  comforted  by 
all  the  promises  of  grandeur  which  were  whispered  in 
her  ear,  either  by  her  mother  or  her  friends. 

That  night — after  the  neighbors  had  gone  away,  and 
Rose  was  in  bed  hugging  a  home-made  doll  which  one 
of  the  lity?  girls  had  brought  her — a  boy  who  had  been 


154       MRS.    MASON'S    DEPARTURE. 

kept  late  with  his  lessons,  climbed  softly  over  the  door 
yard  fence.  He  was  afraid  that  the  gate  would  creak, 
and  disturb  the  family  if  Rose  should  be  in  bed  ;  so 
with  a  long  string  of  robins'  eggs  held  in  one  hand,  he 
leaped  into  the  grass  and  stole  softly  up  to  one  of  the 
front  windows.  A  corner  of  the  paper  blind  was  turned 
up  by  the  back  of  a  chair  which  it  had  fallen  against, 
and  through  this  opening,  our  little  adventurer  saw 
clearly  into  the  room.  First,  he  looked  for  Rose,  the 
object  of  his  juvenile  idolatry  ;  but  her  little  chair  was 
empty,  and  her  tiny  morocco  shoes  and  red  worsted 
stockings  lay  in  a  heap  on  the  seat,  sure  proofs  that  she 
had  gone  to  bed. 

This  was  a  sad  disappointment  to  the  lad,  but  he  soon 
forgot  it  in  the  surprise  which  followed.  Mrs.  Mason 
and  some  strange  man  were  sitting  by  a  work  table, 
which  stood  near  the  window.  A  tallow  candle  shed  its 
light  on  the  widow's  face,  but  the  man  sat  with  his  back 
to  the  window,  his  features  all  in  deep  shadow.  His  hand 
was  extended  half  over  the  table,  clutching  a  quantity 
of  gold  or  silver  coins,  the  boy  could  not  tell  which,  for 
gold  money  he  had  never  seen,  and  the  pieces  that  es- 
caped between  the  man's  fingei's,  and  fell  ringing  on  the 
table,  might  have  been  Spanish  quarters,  or  guineas,  for 
aught  he  knew.  At  any  rate,  that  great  handful  of 
money  seemed  a  marvellous  sum  to  him,  and  when  Mrs. 
Mason  received  it  in  her  two  hands,  he  wondered  that 
she  did  not  jump  for  joy.  But  instead  of  this,  she  took 
a  variegated  work  bag  from  the  table  drawer,  poured 
the  money  into  it  with  some  smiling  remark,  and  cross- 
ing the  room,  unlocked  her  trunk  and  placed  the  bag  in 
one  corner. 

While   she  was  thus  occupied,  the   lad   observed  a 


MBS.   MASON'S    DEPABTUBE.       155 

strange  looking  box  upon  the  table,  which  the  person 
still  sitting  there  had  opened.  A  bright  flash  came  out 
of  the  box,  as  if  something  had  struck  fire  within.  Mrs. 
Mason  came  back  to  the  table.  She  had  taken  off  her 
mourning  dress,  replacing  it  with  a  black  silk  skirt  and 
dimity  short  gown,  with  loose,  open  sleeves  that  left 
her  fine  arms  partially  exposed,  every  time  she  lifted 
them.  She  came  up  to  the  lable  and  seemed  struck  with 
wonder,  for  lifting  up  both  arms,  she  uttered  an  excla- 
mation of  delight  which  the  boy  heard  clearly. 

The  man  snatched  something  from  the  box,  arose,  and 
seized  her  arm.  A  little  struggle  followed,  quick,  im- 
passioned words,  which  the  listener  did  not  understand, 
but  he  saw  that  the  man  was  pleading  for  something 
which  she  smilingly  refused.  That  boy  knew  at  last  what 
it  meant ;  he  had  begged  and  coaxed  exactly  in  the  same 
way  for  a  good-by  kiss,  which  little  Rose  resisted, 
almost  as  her  mother  was  doing  now.  He  had  promised 
the  very  string  of  robins'  eggs  in  his  hand,  as  a  tempta- 
tion, and  all  to  no  effect.  He  remembered  his  own  dis- 
appointment, and  rather  pitied  the  poor  man,  who, 
baffled  and  mortified,  bent  down  and  kissed  Mrs.  Mason's 
arm,  just  above  a  glittering  band  which  circled  the  wrist, 
flashing  there  like  a  ribbon  of  fire. 

Mrs.  Mason  was  evidently  angry  and  resentful,  even 
of  this  liberty.  She  tore  the  bracelet  from  her  arm,  and 
tossed  it  haughtily  into  the  box.  Still  the  man's  back 
was  toward  the  window,  so  it  was  impossible  to  mark 
the  effect  this  had  on  him,  save  by  the  droop  of  his 
shoulders,  and  a  deprecating  action  of  the  hands.  But 
the  widow  motioned  him  away,  frowning  heavily.  The 
man  sat  down,  closed  the  box,  and  bent  his  forehead 
upon  it.  She  leaned  over  the  table  and  spoke  to  him. 


MKS.   MASON'S   DEPARTURE. 

He  started  up  with  a  suddenness  that  frightened  the 
lad,  who  leaped  the  fence  like  a  deer,  and  fled  up  the 
road. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  the  boy  ever  mentioned  what 
he  had  witnessed  that  night.  The  remembrance  of  his 
own  shy  feelings  about  little  Rose  kept  him  silent. 
Besides  this,  he  had  a  consciousness  that  there  was 
something  to  be  ashamed  of  in  peeping  through  the 
windows  of  a  neighbor's  house,  and  so  wisely  kept  his 
peace  about  what  he  had  discovered  in  this  surreptitous 
manner. 

The  next  morning,  a  little  group  of  neighbors  gathered 
to  see  Mrs.  Mason  off.  A  light,  yellow  wagon,  stood  be- 
fore the  gate,. a  restive,  gray  horse,  stamped  and  chafed 
beneath  his  harness  till  it  rattled  again.  The  widow  was 
shaking  hands  in  the  entry,  while  the  proud  owner  of 
that  equipage  carried  out  her  little  hair  trunk,  and  put 
it  behind  the  seat.  Rose  was  crying  bitterly  over  a 
gray  kitten  that  came  and  rubbed  itself  against  her 
ankles,  and  purred  as  if  it  rather  enjoyed  the  unusual 
commotion.  This  pretty  child  really  seemed  to  feel  the 
parting  from  her  home  much  more  keenly  than  her 
mother. 

It  was  the  father  of  the  bright  boy  that  had  so  naughtily 
looked  into  the  window — who  owned  the  wagon.  With 
his  heart  full  of  grief,  the  poor  fellow  had  begged  a  ride, 
and  stood  dolefully  by  the  gate,  peeping  at  little  Rose 
through  an  opening  of  the  boards. 

At  last  Mrs.  Mason  came  forth  into  the  morning  sun- 
shine, prepared  for  her  journey.  The  earth  was  wet, 
and  she  gathered  up  the  skirt  of  her  dark  dress,  as  a 
queen  manages  her  train,  revealing  a  finely  shaped  foot, 
with  which  she  trod  daintily  through  the  grass.  Really 


MRS.    MASON'S   DEPARTURE.       157 

it  was  difficult  to  say  which  struck  the  beholder  most 
forcibly  in  that  woman ;  the  regal  style  with  which  she 
carried  herself,  or  the  marvellous  physical  beauty  which 
gave  grace  to  her  very  haughtiness.  No  one  could  deny 
that  she  was  a  superb  creature,  even  in  that  cheap  bom- 
bazine dress  and  gloomy  black  bonnet. 

Mrs.  Mason  took  her  seat  in  the  wagon.  The  owner 
placed  himself  by  her  side,  and  began  to  unwind  the  long 
lash  from  his  whip  handle,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
meant  to  do  the  thing  up  handsomely.  Little  Rose  had 
been  lifted  over  the  wheel,  and  placed  into  the  centre  of 
the  seat,  like  an  exclamation  point  in  the  middle  of  a 
short  sentence.  Thus  they  were  all  crowded  together 
a  little  uncomfortably. 

"  Wait,  wait,"  cried  the  lad,  dashing  into  the  house, 
and  bringing  forth  Rose's  tiny  arm-chair  with  its 
pretty  crimson  cushion.  "  There,"  he  said,  choking 
back  a  great  sob,  "if  pa  brings  it  back  in  the  wagon, 
maybe  you'll  let  me  keep  it ;  nobody  shall  ever  sit  in 
it,  Rose,  'till  you  come  home  again." 

Then  Rose  covered  her  face  with  two  dimpled  little 
hands  that  were  wet  all  over  in  a  moment.  "  Oh,  don't 
—la,  don't!" 

The  lad  sprang  up  on  the  hub  of  the  front  wheel,  and 
laid  the  string  of  robins'  eggs  into  her  lap,  his  face  all 
in  a  blaze,  and  his  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"  Don't  forget  me,  Rose,  don't — no  boy  will  ever  love 
you  half  so  much  as  I  do." 

Rose  dropped  her  hands,  looked  down  at  the  blue 
eggs  in  her  lap,  and  throwing  her  arms  around  his 
neck,  kissed  him  three  or  four  times. 

The  farmer  and  Mrs.  Mason  looked  at  each  other,  and 
laughed  softly.  The  boy  heard  them,  sprang  down 


158       MRS.    MASON'S    DEPARTURE. 

from  the  wheel,  and  dashed  into  the  house,  where  no 
one  could  see  what  a  great  baby  he  was  ready  to  make 
of  himself.  Then  he  watched  the  wagon  drive  off 
through  a  flood  of  blinding  tears,  while  little  Rose 
flung  kisses  back  at  random,  sobbing  as  if  her  heart 
would  break,  and  wondering  if  any  of  them  would  reach 
him. 

When  the  farmer  returned  from  his  ten  miles'  drive 
into  New  Haven,  he  brought  news  that  a  steamboat 
lay  at  the  foot  of  "  Long  Wharf,"  ready  to  sail  in  half 
an  hour  after  Mrs.  Mason  reached  it,  and  that  he  saw 
her  go  on  board  in  great  spirits,  with  Rose,  who  had 
cried  all  the  way,  but  seemed  a  little  pacified  by  the 
sight  of  the  broad  waters,  and  the  great  puffing  boat  in 
which  she  was  about  to  cross  them. 

Nelson  Thrasher  happened  to  be  standing  near  when 
the  farmer  said  this,  and  one  of  the  rare  smiles  I  have 
spoken  of  crossed  his  face,  but  he  made  no  observa- 
tions, and  soon  took  a  cross-cut  through  the  fields 
which  led  him  by  Mrs.  Allen's,  on  his  way  home. 
Katharine  was  watching  for  him  at  the  back  window. 
She  had  heard  of  Mrs.  Mason's  journey,  and  exulted  a 
little  when  Nelson  passed  the  house  on  his  way  to  Falls 
Hill,  an  hour  after  she  had  started.  All  that  night  she 
had  been  troubled  lest  he  should  wish  to  bid  the  widow 
farewell ;  for,  spite  of  herself,  a  lingering  distrust  still 
kept  its  hold  on  her  heart,  when  she  remembered  the 
conversation  of  that  evening. 

Thrasher  saw  her  at  the  window,  and  made  a  signal, 
which  soon  brought  her  outside  of  the  stone  wall,  and 
under  a  huge  apple  tree,  which  flung  its  branches  across 
it  and  into  the  garden. 

Never  since  his  return  had  Thrasher  seemed  so  cheer 


MRS.    MASON'S    DEPARTURE.       159 

ful.  He  even  inquired  after  the  old  lady  with  some- 
thing of  interest,  and  spoke  of  the  time  when  she  would 
regard  him  with  less  prejudice.  All  this  gave  Katharine 
a  lighter  heart ;  her  beauty,  which  had  been  dimmed  by 
adversity  of  late,  bloomed  out  again.  If  not  so  stately 
as  Mrs.  Mason,  she  was  far  more  lovely,  and  her  fair, 
sweet  face  was  mobile  with  sentiments  which  the  widow 
could  not  have  understood.  Compared  to  that  woman, 
she  was  like  the  apple  blossoms  of  May  contrasted 
with  autumn  fruit — one  a  child  of  the  pure,  bright 
spring,  appealing  to  the  imagination ;  the  other  a  growth 
of  storm,  sunshine,  and  dew,  mellowing  down  from  its  first 
delicate  beauty  to  a  perfection  of  ripeness  which  sense 
alone  can  appreciate.  There  existed  elements  in  that 
young  creature's  character  from  which  the  best  poetry 
of  life  is  wrought.  Heroism,  self-abnegation,  endurance, 
and  truthfulness — all  these  rendered  her  moral  charac- 
ter beautiful  as  her  person. 

But,  alas !  our  future  pages  will  prove  all  this.  Why 
should  we  attempt  to  foreshadow  in  words  a  destiny 
and  a  nature  like  hers  ?  It  is  enough  that  she  looked 
lovely  as  an  April  morning  that  bright  day,  as  she  stood 
under  the  apple  tree,  leaning  against  the  mossy  old 
wall,  talking  to  her  husband,  sometimes  with  her  lips, 
sometimes  with  her  wonderful  eyes,  which  said  a  thou- 
sand loving  things  that  her  voice  refused  to  utter. 
He  fell  into  the  current  of  her  cheerfulness,  and  chatted 
pleasantly,  till  the  slanting  shadows  warned  her  that 
the  tea  hour  had  arrived,  and  that  her  mother  would  be 
impatient.  With  his  kisses  warm  upon  her  mouth,  she 
went  singing  into  the  house,  happy  and  rich  in  sudden 
joyousness. 


160  ANOTHER     SEPARATION. 

*    - 

CHAPTER    XX. 

ANOTHER   SEPARATION. 

IT  was  about  two  weeks  after  Mrs.  Mason's  departure, 
when  Thrasher  began  to  talk  of  going  to  sea  again. 
This  depressed  his  parents  greatly.  They  had  hoped 
that  his  attachment  to  Katharine  Allen  would  have  kept 
him  at  the  homestead.  Thus  they  had  carefully  avoided 
any  allusion  to  the  subject  of  his  departure,  satisfied 
that  every  thing  was  progressing  to  forward  their  wishes. 
When  he  spoke  of  going  away  in  the  course  of  another 
week,  it  was  a  terrible  shock  to  them,  and  seemed  a 
painful  subject  to  himself. 

Katharine  had,  from  the  first,  expected  his  departure 
— its  necessity  had  been  urged  upon  her  on  their  first 
meeting  under  the  butternut  tree.  She  acquiesced  in 
his  decision  then,  and  never  thought  of  disputing  it 
afterward.  But,  as  the  time  drew  near,  she  became  very 
sad — vague  doubts  beset  her  night  and  day — formless, 
reasonless,  as  she  strove  to  convince  herself;  but  the 
struggle  was  always  going  on — the  feelings  reasoned  out 
of  her  mind  overnight,  were  certain  to  return  in  the 
morning. 

It  was  a  sorrowful  position  for"  a  young  creature  like 
her,  inexperienced  every  way,  needing  counsel  as  no  hu- 
man being  ever  required  it  before,  yet  afraid  to  breathe 
a  word  of  the  trouble  that  oppressed  her,  lest  it  should 
alienate  her  entirely  from  her  suffering  mother,  whom, 
next  to  Thrasher,  she  loved  with  the  tenderest  devotion. 

It  was  an  honor  to  this  young  creature  that  she  bore 


ANOTHER     SEPARATION.  161 

all  this  load  of  anxiety  without  a  single  word  of  com- 
plaint. She  felt  that  all  the  concealment  that  followed 
her  marriage  had  sprung  from  her  own  desire.  But  the 
dread  of  giving  pain  to  her  mother  had  exerted  an  over- 
powering influence  over  her.  Thrasher  had  not  seemed 
to  care  about  the  matter.  Whether  his  marriage  was 
proclaimed  at  once  or  not,  had  been  a  subject  of  indif- 
ference. If  secrecy  had  become  more  important  now, 
she  did  not  realize  it ;  but  imagined  that  he  was  still 
indulging  her  fears  rather  than  guiding  them.  The  sad 
news  that  he  had  brought,  the  sickness  it  had  inflicted 
upon  her  mother,  were  stern  reasons  why  she  should  not 
speak  then. 

All  this  Thrasher  knew,  and  was  content  to  leave 
things  to  their  natural  course.  So,  instead  of  offering 
hindrance  to  his  departure,  Katharine  was  almost 
anxious  for  him  to  go,  that  his  return  within  the  pro- 
mised time  might  be  more  certain. 

Still  the  young  man  lingered  at  the  homestead,  though 
letters  reached  him  from  New  York  twice  in  one  week, 
from  ship  owners,  he  said,  urging  him  to  be  on  hand  for 
a  fresh  voyage,  where,  he  could  not  exactly  tell.  The 
vessel  belonged  to  no  established  line,  but  traded  with 
the  West  Indies,  generally. 

The  old  people  were  inconsolable.  It  seemed,  they 
both  said  plaintively,  as  if  they  were  parting  with  their 
son  forever.  Why  must  he  leave  them  again?  The 
homestead  and  all  they  possessed  in  the  world  should  be 
his  if  he  would  but  marry  and  settle  down.  They  only 
wanted  a  comfortable  room  in  some  corner  of  the  old 
house,  where,  with  a  knowledge  qf  his  presence  and 
happiness,  their  content  would  be  perfect. 

He  could  not  answer  these  tender  entreaties,  but  sat 
10 


162  ANOTHER     SEPARATION. 

moodily,  striving  not  to  listen.  His  mind  was  made  np 
— his  career  marked  out.  The  great  loves  of  his  life 
were  antagonistic ;  one  must  be  surrendered — the  holy 
or  the  unholy.  He  turned  from  the  wholesome  fruit, 
and  took  that  which  was  ashen  at  the  core. 

Thrasher  might  have  avoided  the  last  farewell ;  but 
painful  as  it  was,  he  could  not  for.ce  himself  to  leave  the 
old  people  unawares.  The  last  evening  must  come,  the 
last  good-night  must  be  said.  He  would  listen  to  the 
old  man's  voice  on  his  knees  once  more,  and  let  his 
mother  kiss  him,  as  of  old,  before  he  went  to  sleep  in 
that  house  for  the  last  time.  It  was  all  very  painful — 
worse  than  leaving  his  young  wife ;  worse  than  death, 
he  said  to  himself,  a  hundred  times ;  all  his  innocent 
memories,  all  his  household  affections,  to  be  torn  up  at 
the  roots  by  his  own  hands.  For  what,  and  for  whom  ? 

Would  other  love  come  into  his  life  and  compensate 
for  this  which  he  threw  away  ?  His  teeth  were  clenched, 
and  great  drops  stood  on  his  forehead,  as  he  asked  these 
questions.  But  his  resolve  was  made ;  nothing  could 
change  that — not  even  the  gentle  old  woman,  with  sweet 
motherly  love  in  her  eyes,  who  came  and  sat  by  him  so 
meekly,  and  talked  of  the  next  thanksgiving,  when  he 
would  be  at  home  again,  and  they  would  have  such  a 
dinner.  She  had  set  aside  the  plumpest  young  turkey 
on  the  farm,  and  it  should  not  be  killed  till  he  came 
back — thanksgiving  or  no  thanksgiving. 

God  help  the  man !  He  stood  out  against  all  this  ; 
every  affectionate  string  in  his  heart  trembled  in  the 
struggle,  but  his  bad,  strong  will,  carried  him  through. 

That  night  he  met  Katharine  by  the  old  stone  wall, 
when  they  bade  each  other  farewell.  He  was  gentle  to 
her  then,  and  his  voice  was  so  full  of  anguish,  that  she 


ANOTHER     SEPARATION.  163 

gathered  up  her  strength  to  comfort  him.  The  poor  girl 
spoke  hopefully  of  the  little  time  they  would  be  apart, 
and  how  constantly  she  would  think  of  him — pray  for 
him.  She  dwelt,  too,  on  other  things — on  the  great  happi- 
ness that  would  come  in  the  future.  Her  voice  grew 
soft  with  tenderness,  and  her  sweet  face  looked  heavenly 
in  the  starlight,  as  she  made  this  womanly  effort  to 
console  him ;  but  his  eyes  were  cast  down,  and  a  heavy, 
leaden  feeling,  weighed  upon  his  shoulders.  Dumb  and 
granite-hearted,  he  listened,  striving  not  to  hear. 

Katharine's  time  was  up  5  in  a  few  minutes  her  old 
mother  would  be  calling  for  her.  She  already  saw  her 
tall  person  casting  its  shadow  across  the  window,  as  she 
walked  to  and  fro,  impatient  of  her  loneliness. 

"Nelson,  I  must  go!" 

The  anguish  that  broke  forth  in  these  words  smote 
through  his  heart,  making  it  leap  and  tremble,  but  leaving 
only  a  gleam  of  tenderness  behind.  The  rock  of  his 
stern  will  was  unbroken  even  by  that  cry,  from  a  heart 
as  true  and  loving  as  ever  beat  in  a  woman's  bosom. 

He  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  within  the  clasp  of 
her  arms;  cold,  spasmodic  kisses  were  pressed  on  her 
face.  The  hands  which  grasped  hers  at  last,  were  cold 
as  ice. 

They  parted  thus.  He  turned  and  walked  heavily 
away,  while  Katharine  went  back  to  her  mother,  entreat- 
ing God  to  help  her  bear  this  separation.  It  was  only 
for  a  little  time,  she  murmured  over  and  over  again ;  but 
even  then,  she  had  need  of  strength  from  heaven. 

Few  words'  were  uttered  in  the  Thrasher  homestead 
that  night.  The  old  man  sat  upon  the  hearth,  grave 
and  heavy  hearted,  smoking  at  intervals,  but  quite  un- 
conscious when  the  pipe  went  out  between  his  lips. 


164       THE     MINISTER     GETS     A     WIFE. 

The  mother  held  her  knitting  work — she  would  not  have 
been  herself  without  it — but  her  fingers  rested  motion- 
less on  the  needles  half  the  time,  and  she  sat  gazing 
wistfully  upon  the  floor  till  the  tears  blinded  her.  Then 
she  would  start,  look  meekly  around,  to  be  sure  that  she 
was  not  observed,  and  wipe  her  eyes  with  the  cotton 
handkerchief  which  she  softly  drew  from  her  pocket. 

Thrasher  saw  all  this,  and  the  iron  heart  almost  melted 
within  him.  If  the  dear  old  people  suffered  thus  at  a 
temporary  parting,  what  would  the  future  bring  them  ? 
Again  the  struggle  commenced,  battled,  strove,  tortured 
him,  but  ended  as  before. 

In  the  morning,  long  before  daylight,  he  arose,  and 
with  a  valise  in  his  hand,  went  awajr,  leaving  every  thing 
behind  him  in  darkness.  When  the  old  people  missed 
him,  they  said  very  gently  to  one  another,  "  He  could 
not  bear  to  say  good-by.  It  was  his  kind  heart.  Our 
Nelson  always  was  kind-hearted." 

Katharine,  who  had  watched  at  her  window  from  dawn 
until  the  sun  was  high,  growing  pale  and  sad  every  mo- 
ment, heard  that  he  was  gone,  and  whispered,  amid  her 
tears,  "  His  heart  failed  him ;  he  shrunk  from  seeing 
my  poor  face  again — my  own  dear  husband  ;  how  kind- 
hearted  he  is !" 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE   MINISTER  AT   BATS   HOLLOW   GETS   A    WIFE. 

I  DARE  say  that  the  village  to  which  I  take  my  reader 
is  a  town  of  some  importance  now  ;  but  years  ago,  it 


THE     MINISTER     GETS     A     WIFE.        165 

was  nothing  but  a  cluster  of  houses  snugly  nested  in  a 
valley,  through  which  a  small  stream  wound  itself, 
sinuously  creeping  through  the  meadows  and  along  the 
base  of  the  hills,  in  so  many  picturesque  windings,  that 
you  really  could  not  tell  in  what  direction  it  was  destined 
to  run  at  last,  north  or  south. 

The  village  stood  at  two  crossroads,  which  the  river 
intersected  three  or  four  times ;  besides,  a  brook  from 
the  hills  met  it  just  below  the  corners,  demanding  a 
little  plank  bridge  for  itself,  over  which  a  clump  of 
golden  willows  bent  and  sighed  pleasantly  all  the  day 
long.  A  great,,  square,  barnlike  meeting-house,  with 
pews  laid  out  like  town  lots,  and  aisles  broader  than  any 
street  in  Constantinople,  occupied  the  centre  of  the 
village.  A  range  of  wagon  sheds  stood  behind  it,  and 
a  small  prairie  of  greensward  lay  all  around  it.  There  had 
been  some  vague  attempt  at  a  steeple,  which  the  preju- 
dices of  the  community  had  cut  short  at  the  belfry,  and 
left  without  a  spire,  which  gave  the  edifice  a  broad,  flat 
look,  which  would  have  driven  a  modern  architect  mad. 

On  the  top  of  a  broad  platform,  which  rose  half  way 
to  the  ceiling,  and  was  approached  by  two  steep  flights 
of  steps,  was  perched  a  little  sentry  box  of  a  pulpit, 
surmounted  by  something  in  the  shape  of  a  huge  toad- 
stool, which  the  architects  of  that  day  called  a  sounding 
board. 

In  this  pulpit,  Sunday  after  Sunday,  Mr.  Prior,  min- 
ister of  the  parish,  held  forth  after  the  good  old  fashion, 
when  sermons  had  more  heads  than  a  centipede  has  legs, 
and  hearers  got  the  value  of  the  minister's  salary  in 
good,  sound  gospel.  Besides,  Mr.  Prior  had  other 
sources  of  popularity — his  doctrine  was  sound,  and  his 
sentences  offered  rare  opportunities  for  short  snoozes, 


166        THE     MINISTER     GETS     A     WIFE. 

which  came  oftenest  between  seventhly  and  eighthly,  or 
thereabout.  Not  that  minister  Prior  was  dull — nothing 
of  the  kind ;  he  was  a  very  learned  man,  educated  sol- 
emnly in  a  gloomy  college,  and  lifted  so  completely  out 
of  the  world  during  his  clerical  studies  that  he  never 
quite  found  his  way  back  again. 

After  Mr.  Prior  had  settled  himself  in  the  ministry 
some  ten  or  fifteen  years,  he  married  the  most  accom- 
plished and  correct  person  of  all  that  region,  a  lady  who 
had  kept  the  district  school,  to  general  acceptance,  six 
consecutive  summers,  had  embroidered  a  cover  for  the 
communion  table  with  her  own  hands,  and  was  only  pre- 
vented adding  a  gorgeous  book  mark  and  a  pair  of  slip- 
pers for  the  minister,  by  the  fear  of  what  people  might 
say. 

I  think  it  was  one  of  his  deacons  who  first  put  a  vague 
idea  of  matrimony  in  the  minister's  head.  One  day  the 
two  were  standing  on  a  little  swell  of  ground  which 
overlooked  the  juncture  of  the  mountain  rivulet  and  the 
river.  The  clump  of  golden  willows  looked  beautiful 
that  morning ;  the  yellow  boughs  and  twigs  glanced  in 
the  sunshine,  and  the  thick  leaves  were  all  in  a  quiver 
under  the  kisses  of  the  wind.  Have  I  said  that  the 
brook  clove  one  of  the  greenest  meadows  you  ever  set 
eyes  on,  before  it  crossed  the  road  ?  If  not,  understand 
that  pleasant  fact  now,  and  more,  that  groups  of  trees 
had  been  left  near  the  brook,  all  along  its  banks,  and 
one  of  its  grand  curves  hedged  in  the  loveliest  spot  for  a 
house  your  imagination  ever  dwelt  upon. 

"  I  say,  minister,"  said  the  deacon — this  was  some 
time  before  our  story,  remember — "  I  say,  what  if  you 
get  married,  and  settle  down  in  that  ere  meadow  ?" 

The  minister  blushed,  and  looked,  as  the  deacon  after- 
ward said,  every  which  way,  before  he  answered. 


THE     MINISTER     GETS     A     WIFE.         167 

"  Me  marry,  Deacon  Smith  5  me  !" 

"And  why  not?  there's  acres  of  Scripture  for  it,  and 
not  one  word  agin  it ;  for  how  could  St.  Paul  know  any 
thing  about  it,  never  having  had  experience  like  us 
married  men  ?" 

"  Us  married  men,"  how  strange  the  words  sounded. 
"  Us  married  men."  The  minister  turned  the  bow  of 
his  white  cravat  more  in  front  and  settled  himself  compla- 
cently in  his  rusty  black  clothes.  "  Us  married  men." 

"We  talked  about  it  in  vestry  meeting  t'other 
night,  and  the  notion  seemed  to  take  wonderfully.  We 
all  agreed  to  a  T  about  the  person,  but  our  land  for  a 
home  lot,  building  the  house,  and  all  that,  was  rather  a 
puzzler." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  the  minister,  taking  out  a 
broad  silk  handkerchief,  and  wiping  his  forehead,  which 
was  getting  crimson  again.  "  Then  you  agreed  on — 
on — on  the  person." 

"  Unanimous,"  answered  the  deacon.  "  Not  a  dis- 
senting voice." 

"And— and— " 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course  you've  the  best  right  of  anybody 
to  know  first.  It's  Miss  Bruce — salt  of  the  earth — salt 
of  the  earth,  minister." 

"  You  think  so  ?"  said  the  pastor,  meekly. 

"We  know  it;  trust  the  vestry  for  discretion  and 
sound  judgment  too.  Isn't  that  a  building  spot,  now." 

"  Beautiful,"  said  the  minister,  in  a  confused  way ; 
"but  the  lady,  did  you  ask  her  ?" 

"  Not  exactly ;  agreed  to  put  it  to  vote  first.  Then  I 
promised  to  inform  you  of  the  sense  of  the  meeting,  and 
brother  Wells  will  speak  to  Miss  Bruce.  It's  all  settled 
before  this  time,  I  dare  say." 


168    THE  MINISTEK  GETS  A  WIFE. 

The  minister  drew  a  deep  breath,  as  if  he  had  just 
come  out  of  a  shower  bath,  and  then,  his  vision  being 
cleared,  took  a  survey  of  the  meadow  lot.  The  deacon 
saw  how  his  attention  was  directed,  and  went  on. 

"  I  agreed  to  give  the  lot,  the  hull  meadow,  under- 
stand. Deacon  Styles  will  find  the  timber,  and  the  rest 
'11  be  divided  up,  sort  of  gine rally,  among  the  congrega- 
tion. Then  the  women  folks  are  going  to  get  up  quilt- 
ings,  and  spinning  frolics,  and  so  on.  In  about  three 
months,  I  reckon,  all  will  be  ready." 

Again  the  minister  gave  a  shower  bath  gasp. 

"  There  is  brother  Wells  coming  now,  on  his  black 
horse,  all  fixed  up  in  his  Sunday  clothes,"  cried  the 
deacon,  triumphantly. 

The  brother  rode  up,  looking  as  if  he  had  something 
portentous  on  his  mind.  "  Well,"  said  the  deacon,  "  how 
did  you  get  along,  brother  Wells  ?" 

"  Tolerably,  tolerably ;  she  was  a  little  sot  on  having 
the  minister  come  over  himself,  but  when  I  told  her 
it  was  the  solemn  sense  of  the  vestry,  of  course  she 
gave  in." 

"And  she — no  objections,"  said  the  minister. 

"Objections!"  cried  both  the  men  at  once,  "how 
could  she?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  pastor.  "  That 
is,  I  didn't  know  but  she  might  think  it  a  little  sudden." 

"Sudden!  why  it  has  been  on  our  minds  a  whole 
year.  It  isn't  just  the  thing  for  our  minister  to  be 
boarding  about  like  a  schoolmaster.  A  servant  of  the 
Lord  should  set  under  his  own  vine  and  fig  tree." 

The  minister  wiped  his  face  again,  and  cast  a  glance 
toward  the  meadow,  which  began  to  look  like  home 
already. 


THE     MINISTER     GETS    A    WIFE.        169 

"  I  stopped  at  the  saw-mill  and  bespoke  the  timber," 
said  brother  Wells ;  "  so  if  you'd  just  as  lief,  we'll  go 
down  and  pick  out  the  exact  spot." 

A  smile  glowed  out  on  the  minister's  face.  The 
deacons  saw  it,  and  nodded  pleasantly  one  to  the 
other. 

"  Minister,"  said  Wells,  leaning  down  from  his  horse, 
"  if  you  should  take  a  notion  to  go  over  yonder  any 
time  afore  the  house  is  built,  just  consider  this  ere  black 
horse  as  your  own." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  brother." 

"And,"  saidT)eacon  French,  "  I  stopped  at  the  tailor's 
coming  along ;  he's  got  a  firstrate  piece  of  English  broad- 
cloth, but  he  says  it's  seven  years  since  you  have  been 
measured,  minister,  and  to  make  a  good  fit  you'll  have 
to  go  again." 

"  Doubtless — doubtless !"  answered  the  minister,  ready 
to  cry  under  all  this  goodness — a  house,  a  wife,  and  a 
new  suit  of  clothes  all  at  once !  It  really  was  too 
much  of  a  mercy ;  he  didn't  know  how  to  be  thankful 
enough. 

Well,  they  went  down  to  the  meadow,  selected  a 
lovely  spot  for  the  house,  and  stopped  at  the  tailor's  on 
their  way  home.  That  very  week  a  little  boy  came 
over  to  Deacon  Wells,  and  asked,  in  a  mysterious  way, 
if  he  would  let  the  minister  have  his  black  horse  to  ride 
over  the  hill. 

Deacon  Wells-  smiled  grimly,  and  brought  out  the 
horse  himself,  taking  great  pains  to  tighten  the  saddle 
girth  and  shorten  the  stirrup  leathers  properly,  before 
he  gave  the  bridle  into  the  boy's  hand. 

It  wasn't  the  last  time  that  black  horse  was  sent  for 
to  go  over  the  hill,  and  the  result  exhibited  itself,  in  the 


170        THE     MINISTER     GETS     A     WIFE. 

course  of  a  few  months,  in  a  pretty,  white  house,  with  a 
porch  and  dormer  windows,  standing  in  the  greenest 
curve  of  the  brook ;  a  thicket  of  wild  roses,  only  half 
shutting  out  a  view  of  the  water  ;  ducks  were  swimming 
up  and  down  the  little  stream,  and  a  flock  of  hens  run- 
ning riot  in  the  meadow  grass.  Besides  this,  a  neat, 
little  body,  with  the  quaintest  bonnet  and  neatest  dress 
in  the  world,  came  into  the  meeting-house  with  the  min- 
ister, who  appeared  in  a  new  suit  of  black,  separated 
from  him  in  the  broad  aisle  in  front  of  the  deacon's  seat, 
and  while  he  mounted  the  pulpit  stairs,  she  turned  into 
a  side  pew,  and  listened  to  his  discourse,  from  beginning 
to  end,  with  unbroken  interest. 

But  it  is  the  weakness  of  vestry-men  to  vote  money 
which  they  have  not  the  power  to  collect.  The  minister 
was  married,  and  his  house  built,  but  a  debt  lay  on  it, 
which  troubled  him  as  only  studious  men  can  be  troubled 
by  monied  claims. 

The  little  wife  came  to  his  aid.  She  was  a  highly  ac- 
complished, well  educated  woman,  who  had  earned  her 
own  living  from  early  girlhood,  and  was  not  ashamed 
or  afraid  to  help  her  husband  in  any  womanly  fashion 
that  presented  itself.  She  had  plenty  of  room,  good 
health,  and  a  clear  brain,  all  sources  of  usefulness,  which 
she  was  prompt  to  put  into  action.  Teaching  was  her 
business.  If  she  could  obtain  a  couple  of  boarding 
scholars  into  her  own  house,  at  city  prices,  the  debts 
upon  their  home  would  soon  be  removed. 

The  dainty  little  housewife  began  to  talk  with  her 
husband  about  the  project  one  morning  just  as  he  was 
resolving  the  fifth  head  of  his  next  sermon,  at  which 
time  he  never  heard  a  syllable  addressed  to  him  by  any 
mortal  being,  but  always  assented  blandly  to  every 
thing  proposed. 


THE    MINISTER'S   WIFE.          171 

So,  under  the  full  conviction  that  lie  approved  her 
plan,  she  wrote  to  a  friend  in  New  York,  requesting  her 
to  aid  in  obtaining  the  desired  pupils. 

When  his  sermon  was  over,  the  minister  received  the 
news  of  this  arrangement  with  considerable  astonish- 
ment, but  he  submitted  without  protest,  as  the  letter 
had  already  gone. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

THE  MINISTER'S  WIFE  TAKES  PUPILS. 

BAYS  HOLLOW  stands  on  the  very  boundary  line  which 
separates  Connecticut  from  New  York.  Half  the  val- 
ley was  in  one  State,  half  in  the  other ;  but  the  minis- 
ter's house,  in  fact  the  whole  village,  lay  in  Connecti- 
cut. Persons  acquainted  with  the  geography  of  that 
part  of  the  country,  will  understand  that  the  easiest 
mode  of  access  to  this  place  before  railroads  threw  their 
iron  belts  from  State  to  State,  was  by  the  Hudson  river. 
Indeed,  between  New  York  and  the  minister's  house, 
there  was  scarcely  half  a  day's  land  travel,  and  that  was 
easily  accomplished  in  a  stage-coach  that  ran  twice  a 
week  from  the  river. 

One  night,  it  was  late  in  the  autumn,  this  stage-coach 
stopped  at  the  minister's  house,  and  after  great  tramp- 
ling of  horses,  crashing  of  iron  steps,  and  unhooking  of 
straps,  a  lady  was  assisted  out.  Her  trunk  was  set  on 
the  turf,  a  basket,  and  after  that,  a  charming  little  girl 
"was  lifted  through  the  door ;  bang — crash — a  shout  to 
the  horses,  and  off  the  stage  thundered,  arousing  the 
whole  neighborhood  with  its  noise. 


172  THE    MINISTER'S  WIFE. 

Mrs.  Prior  came  out  with  a  white  sun  bonnet  shading 
her  modest  face,  and  a  tidy,  black  apron  tied  over  her 
calico  dress.  The  rich  travelling  costume  of  the  lady, 
her  stately  beauty,  joined  with  a  haughty  pride  of  car- 
riage, impressed  her  greatly.  The  little  girl  was,  no 
doubt,  to  be  her  pupil.  What  a  lovely  little  fairy  she 
was,  with  her  blue  eyes  so  full  of  light,  and  her  curls 
falling  in  waves  and  dancing  in  ringlets  over  her 
shoulders. 

"  Is  it  Mrs.  Prior  ?"  inquired  the  traveller,  with  a  sort 
of  unpleasant  politeness.  "  Your  friend  in  New  York 
recommended  this  as  a  quiet  place  where  I  and  my 
daughter  could  be  made  comfortable  for  a  few  months." 

"Yes,  madame,"  said  the  lady,  somewhat  disturbed  ; 
"  I  desired  scholars,  not  boarders  only." 

"And  I  bring  you  scholars,  madame." 

"  One — yes,  I  see,  and  a  sweet  creature  she  is,"  said 
the  minister's  wife,  looking  at  the  little  girl,  who  was 
drawing  slowly  toward  her. 

"  More  than  one,"  answered  the  lady,  blushing  crim- 
son ;  "I  wish  to  study  n^self,  partly  to  encourage  the 
child,  partly  because  I  require  lessons  almost  as  much 
as  she  does." 

"You,  lady?" 

"  No  matter  about  explanations.  I  have  really  come 
to  be  your  pupil  with  my  daughter ;  my  education  is 
deficient — I  wish  to  learn.  I  am  a  widow,  and  quiet  is 
good  for  me.  I  am  quick,  have  a  fine  memory,  and  am 
willing  to  study  hard.  This  is  my  object  in  coming — 
will  you  take  me  ?" 

"  If  you  wish  it,  certainly  ;  but  we  are  plain  people — 
the  minister  and  I ;  our  way  of  living  may  not  suit 
you." 


THE    MINISTER'S    WIFE.  173 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  about  that.  I  shall  content 
myself  with  anything;  it  is  knowledge  I  came  after." 

"  I — I  suppose  my  friend  said  something  about 
terms,"  faltered  the  minister's  wife,  blushing. 

"  Certainly  ;  but  that  was  for  children ;  of  course  I 
shall  be  more  trouble.  If  I  pay  you  just  as  much  again 
will  it  answer?" 

"  It  would  be  wrong  to  take  it." 

"  Not  at  all ;  so  if  you  will  have  the  trunks  carried 
in  we  can  settle  the  terms  comfortably.  I  am  ready  to 
pay  half  the  sum  in  advance,  and  commence  study  at 
once." 

Mrs.  Prior  called  the  hired  girl  to  help  carry  in  the 
trunks,  and  led  the  way  into  the  parlor.  Mr.  Prior 
passed  them  in  the  hall  and  made  one  of  his  solemnly 
polite  bows.  The  visitor  answered  it  with  a  sweeping 
salutation,  and  entered  the  parlor  a  little  discomfited. 

"  Your  husband  is  a  clergyman,  as  I  understand  ?" 

"  Yes,  he  is  the  minister  here ;  I  hope  you  will  like 
him." 

"  Oh,  certainly." 

The  lady  placed  her  travelling  basket  on  the  table, 
and  opening  it  took  out  a  heavy  purse.  Pouring  out  a 
quantity  of  gold  she  divided  it  without  counting  and 
pushed  it  toward  Mrs.  Prior. 

"This  will  be  sufficient  to  commence  with,  I  fancy." 

Mrs.  Prior  looked  at  the  little  pile  of  Louis  d'or  in 
absolute  consternation.  In  her  whole  life  she  had  never 
seen  so  much  gold. 

"It  is  good  money,"  said  the  lady. 

"  Yes,  doubtless,"  answered  the  minister's  wife,  ex- 
amining a  piece  of  gold.  "  French  coin." 

"  You  read  French,  then  ?" 


174  THE    MINISTER'S    WIFE. 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  And  can  teach  it  ?» 

"  I  think  so." 

"  And  how  long  will  it  take  me  to  learn  ?" 

"  That  depends  on  the — the  powers  of  application 
you  possess." 

"  Oh,  never  fear,  I  accomplish  all  I  undertake — music 
too  ?" 

"  I  have  no  instrument." 

"  But  you  can  teach  music?" 

"Yes." 

"  Then  if  there  is  an  instrument  to  be  got  we  will 
have  it.  This  is  a  nice,  airy  room,  and  a  little  more 
furniture  would  not  hurt  it." 

Mrs.  Prior  was  busy  counting  the  gold ;  her  face 
flushed,  and  she  made  sad.  mistakes. 

"  This  is  too  much,"  she  said.  "  It  would  cover 
board  and  tuition  for  a  year." 

"  Well,  perhaps  we  shall  stay  so  long." 

"  But  even  then " 

The  lady  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  Pray  don't  trouble  me  about  the  money.  If  it  is 
enough,  well — if  not,  I  will  give  you  more." 

Here  the  minister  came  in.  His  wife  moved  toward 
him  with  the  gold  in  her  hands. 

"  See  what  the  Lord  has  done  for  us  through  this 
lady,"  she  said. 

He  glanced  at  the  gold,  smiled  benignly,  and  with 
gentle  politeness  inquired  the  lady's  name. 

"  Mrs.  Mason — Ellen  Mason,  of  South  Carolina,"  she 
answered,  coloring  as  she  spoke.  "  Rose,  my  dear,  come 
and  shake  hands  with  the  gentleman." 

Rose  shut  the  fanciful  little  basket  that  she  carried 


THE  VILLAGE  DOCTOE.       175 

on  her  arm  and  came  forward  smiling  in  all  her  fea- 
tures ;  but  as  she  stood  on  tiptoe  pursing  her  pretty 
mouth  like  a  rosebud,  her  mother  took  up  the  basket. 
The  little  girl  saw  it,  broke  away  from  the  minister's 
hold  and  ran  back,  crying  out : 

"  Oh,  ma — ma !  take  care  or  you'll  break  my  string 
of  robins'  eggs !" 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE   VILLAGE    DOCTOR   IN   A    SNOW-STORM. 

SNOW  !  deep,  deep  snow  everywhere !  It  lay  three  feet 
on  a  level  in  the  river  vale.  It  spread  a  shining  crust  over 
the  hills.  It  lodged  in  the  branches  of  the  densely 
green  pine  woods,  and  whitened  the  roof  of  every  house 
in  the  neighborhood.  The  bury  ing-ground  on  the  hill, 
was  wrapped  so  deep  in  a  fleecy  shroud,  that  you  could 
hardly  distinguish  the  marble  grave-stones  from  its 
white  surface,  and  the  church,  always  a  beautiful  object, 
with  its  slender  steeple  and  white  walls,  looked  like  a 
temple  wrought  from  the  snow  itself — something  that 
the  angels  had  visited  overnight,  and  left  spotless  as 
themselves. 

With  all  this  depth  and  volume  of  snow,  crusted  over 
as  it  had  been  by  a  sharp  frost,  it  was  almost  impossible 
that  the  roads  could  be  broken  in  a  single  day.  Still,  a 
few  ox  sleds  had  marked  out  the  line  of  the  turnpike, 
and  some  sleighs  had  followed  in  their  track,  with  a 
wrangle  of  bells  that  told  of  the  struggle  made  by  the 


176  THE     VILLAGE     DOCTOR. 

smoking  horses  which  drew  them.  On  the  bank  of  the 
river,  on  the  Chewstown  side,  the  highway  runs  along 
the  side  of  a  hill,  which  terminates  abruptly  at  the 
bridge,  where  the  New  Haven  turnpike  intersects  it. 

There  is  nothing  very  beautiful  about  the  spot  now, 
for  the  hemlocks,  and  young  tamarisks  are  all  cut  down, 
the  dog-wood  and  shad-blossoms  cleared  away,  and  the 
hill  is  almost  left  without  a  shade.  But  at  the  time  of 
this  snow-storm,  the  naked  boughs  and  evergreens 
proved  how  thick  and  green  the  summer  shadows  must 
be,  and  if  the  "  Rock  Spring  "  sent  its  waters  flashing 
through  the  snow,  melting  it  softly  away,  you  could,  at 
least,  imagine  how  cool  and  bright  they  were  when  ferns, 
mosses,  and  violets  crept  into  the  turf,  and  coA-ered 
the  rocks  with  the  green  and  azure  of  a  spring  birth. 

This  road  was  not  generally  so  much  travelled  as  the 
one  across  the  sand  banks,  but  two  or  three  loads  of 
wood  had  passed  that  way,  revealing  the  depths  of  the 
drifts  without  rendering  them  much  more  passable. 
Still  a  "  solitary  horseman  "  came  out  from  the  shelter 
of  the  hemlocks,  and  made  his  way  very  slowly  toward 
the  bridge.  His  horse,  a  stout  animal,  with  any  amount 
of  mane  and  foretop  streaming  in  the  wind,  came  tramp- 
ing heavily  through  the  snow,  emitting  clouds  of  steam 
from  his  sides,  while  each  labored  breath  bearded  his 
under  lip  with  icicles,  and  fringed  his  dilating  nostrils 
with  quivering  frost-work. 

The  man  who  had  braved  that  almost  impassable  road 
and  cold  day,  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  person- 
ages known  in  that  portion  of  the  country.  His  very 
eccentricities  gave  force  and  vitality  to  the  general  re- 
gard. Singular  in  person,  singular  in  character,  unlike 
all  other  men  in  almost  every  particular,  he  was,  per- 


THE     VILLAGE     DOCTOR.  177 

haps,  somewhat  for  this  very  reason,  looked  up  to  and 
reverenced  as  the  peculiar  property  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. Learned  he  certainly  was ;  and  neither  before  or 
after  has  another  man  been  found  wfio  could,  in  all 
tilings,  pretend  to  fill  his  place. 

This  man  was  the  village  doctor;  no,  the  district 
doctor,  rather,  for  his  ride  extended  over  thirty  miles, 
and  as  a  consulting  physician  over  the  whole  State.  With 
a  huge  bear-skin  cap  upon  his  head,  and  an  ample  brown 
overcoat,  girded  to  his  waist  by  a  broad  leather  belt, 
and  falling  low  on  each  side  of  his  horse,  he  issued  from 
behind  the  trees.  Two  crutches,  worn  smooth  as  glass, 
were  crossed  before  him  on  the  saddle  bow.  He  held 
the  bridle  loosely  in  his  hands  and  encouraged  the  horse 
with  many  a  droll  saying,  as  if  the  animal  were  human 
and  could  enjoy  his  quaint  humor.  At  the  "  Rock 
Spring"  there  was  a  struggle  between  the  doctor  and 
his  steed.  For  an  unknown  number  of  years  the  horse 
had  invariably  quenched  his  thirst  in  that  particular 
place,  and  he  was  determined  not  to  make  this  day  an 
exception,  though  a  deep  round  hole,  scarcely  larger 
than  the  doctor's  cap,  and  a  moist  sinking  of  the  snow 
across  the  road  might  have  deceived  a  less  sagacious 
animal  into  a  belief  that  this  old  drinking  place  had 
been  swallowed  up  by  the  storm. 

There  was  no  deceiving  our  doctor's  brown  horse  in 
any  thing,  much  less  in  a  case  of  appetite  like  that.  He 
was  a  dainty  animal  in  the  matter  of  drink,  and  water 
so  pure  and  crystaline  as  that  which  lost  its  smothered 
music  in  the  snow,  was  not  to  be  found  within  twenty 
miles. 

The  doctor  was  in  haste,  or  he  never  would  have 
dreamed  of  contesting  any  thing  with  his  faithful  steed. 
11 


178  THE     VILLAGE     DOCTOR. 

Indeed,  the  case  must  have  been  one  of  life  or  death 
which  could  bring  any  man  on  the  highway  at  a  time 
like  that.  lie  began  to  protest  and  reason  with  the 
horse  after  his  Eccentric  fashion,  and  finally  went  so  far 
as  to  gather  up  the  bridle  and  tighten  the  bit,  a  pro- 
cedure which  so  astonished  the  horse  that  he  backed 
sideways  into  a  drift,  viciously  slanted  his  ears,  and 
subsided  into  a  state  of  masterly  inactivity,  the  most 
difficult  thing  to  conquer  that  we  know  of,  either  in 
statesmanship  or  horseflesh. 

The  doctor  chuckled,  laid  the  bridle  down  cai'essingly 
on  the  neck  that  had  made  a  lamentable  failure  in  striv- 
ing to  arch  itself,  and  folding  his  hands  in  the  loose 
sleeves  of  his  overdress,  waited.  Obstinate  animals  and 
obstinate  men  are  apt  to  feel  as  if  fighting  the  air  when 
no  one  opposes  them.  The  horse  began  to  realize  this 
sensation.  The  snow-drift  into  which  he  had  backed 
was  cold  and  deep.  The  waters  of  the  spring  murmured 
a  soft  enticement.  First,  he  pointed  one  ear  and  turned 
his  head  with  sly,  compunctious  timidity,  as  if  ashamed 
to  enjoy  his  own  triumph.  Then  he  pointed  the  other 
ear,  shook  himself  a  little,  tramped  heavily  toward  the 
spring,  and  thrusting  his  head  deep  into  the  snow,  began 
to  drink. 

The  doctor  indulged  in  a  laugh,  and  when  the  horse 
withdrew  his  head,  shaking  a  storm  of  drops  back  into 
the  spring,  he  patted  him  softly,  called  him  a  good  fel- 
low for  having  his  own  way,  and  appeared  so  much  like 
the  obliged  party  that  the  animal,  to  his  dying  hour,  was 
never  quite  certain  of  his  own  triumph. 

After  all,  this  struggle  had  taken  but  little  time.  The 
horse  breasted  his  work  with  fresh  vigor  after  it.  He 
pushed  through  and  trampled  down  the  snow  until  he 


THE     VILLAGE     DOCTOR.  179 

reached  the  bridge,  stalked  over  it,  toiled  through  the 
valley  and  up  Falls  Hill,  never  stopping  till  he  reached 
the  huge  willow  tree  which  stood  on  the  crossroad  that 
led  to  Bungy.  This  was  a  farming  district,  back  of 
Castle  Rock,  where  the  Thrasher  farm  and  Mrs.  Allen's 
place  lay. 

While  the  doctor  was  breathing  his  horse  under  the 
willow,  a  teamster  passed  with  a  large  sled,  on  which 
some  bags  of  grain  were  piled.  He  stopped  his  oxen 
with  a  flourish  of  the  goadrand  a  storm  of  who — who-o-as, 
while  he  held  a  little  conversation. 

"  Tough  teaming  this  I"  he  said.  "  Hard  on  young 
cattle ;  but  somebody  must  go  first.  Any  of  the  neigh- 
bors dangerous  out  this  way,  doctor  ?" 

"  No,"  answered  the  doctor,  with  a  twinkle  of  the  eye. 

"  Then  what  on  arth  brings  you  out  ?" 

"  Wanted  a  ride,  and  thought  perhaps  I  could  hunt 
tip  a  patient  " 

"  Wai,  now  I  shouldn't  a  thought  it !  Which  way  are 
you  a  going,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  ?" 

"  Haven't  decided.  If  you've  got  a  copper  in  your 
pocket,  toss  up.  It's  all  the  same  to  me." 

The  man  took  a  new  cent  from  his  pocket,  and  bal- 
ancing it  on  his  thumb  nail,  he  called  out — 

"  Which'll  ye  have,  doctor?" 

"Heads." 

Up  flashed  the  cent  into  the  sunshine,  then  down  to 
the  teamster's  feet,  where  it  made  a  deep,  round  hole  in 
the  snow. 

"  Heads  it  is,  doctor,"  cried  the  man,  fishing  his  coin 
up  in  a  handful  of  flakes. 

"  True  enough !  then  I  will  ride  over  the  hill.  That 
toss  up  decides  it." 


180  THE    VILLAGE     DOCTOR. 

"You'll  never  get  there,  doctor;  drifts  over  your 
head." 

The  doctor  was  ploughing  his  waj'  up  the  Bungy  road, 
and  did  not  seem  to  hear  this  prediction.  He  was  evi- 
dently very  anxious  to  go  forward,  and  encouraged  his 
horse  with  sharp  ejaculations,  as  they  approached  the 
hills.  The  animal  understood  it  all,  and  lending  himself 
to  the  work,  stamped  and  pursued  his  way  onward  with 
the  perseverance  of  a  veteran ;  but  his  progress  was 
necessarily  slow,  and  the  doctor's  broad  forehead  gath- 
ered into  an  anxious  frown  under  his  cap. 

"  Poor  thing — poor  thing — she  may  be  dead  before  we 
get  there,"  he  muttered  more  than  once,  and  then  he 
would  commence  expostulating  with  the  horse,  who, 
good  fellow,  was  doing  his  very  best.  Just  as  they  were 
ascending  the  brow  of  the  hill,  a  woman  was  seen  in 
advance,  wildly  pushing  her  way  through  the  snow. 
She  saw  the  doctor,  and  waved  her  arms  in  distracted 
haste,  beckoning  him  to  come  on. 

The  doctor  must  have  been  insane  with  anxiety  to 
have  ventured  on  it.  But  he  seized  one  of  his  crutches 
and  gave  the  horse  a  back-handed  blow.  A  plunge  that 
almost  unseated  the  imprudent  man — a  storm  of  snow 
about  his  ears,  and  the  animal  broke  into  one  of  the 
most  extraordinary  gaits  that  ever  a  horseman  experi- 
enced— backing  down,  rushing  forward,  and  making  side 
movements  that  came  very  near  landing  the  doctor  head 
foremost  in  a  huge  wave-like  drift  that  covered  the  fence 
close  by  to  its  topmost  rail. 

At  last,  with  great  coaxing  and  expostxilation,  this 
state  of  things  was  reduced  to  the  most  awkward  attempt 
at  a  trot,  which  the  exasperated  animal  persisted  in, 
though  his  efforts  were  broken  up  at  every  other  step. 


THE    VILLAGE     DOCTOR.  181 

The  woman  stood  for  a  minute  knee-deep  in  the  snow. 
She  only  ceased  wringing  her  hands  to  beckon  him  for- 
ward. When  certain  that  he  was  doing  his  best,  she 
turned  and  walked  quickly  up  the  road,  and  entered 
Mrs.  Allen's  house. 

"  I  thought  so — I  feared  it,"  muttered  the  doctor, 
"but  who  ever  saw  riding  like  this  ?  It's  like  wading 
through  a  desert  of  cotton  wool.  Don't  you  think  so, 
old  fellow?" 

The  horse  was  indignant  yet,  and  scorned  to  give  any 
sign  that  he  understood  those  conciliatory  tones,  even 
by  a  twinkle  of  the  ear.  On  he  scrambled,  deeply  injured 
in  his  feelings,  but  resolved  to  do  his  duty,  and  leave 
the  rest  on  his  master's  conscience. 

At  last  they  reached  the  gate  which  led  to  Mrs.  Allen's 
house.  With  his  crutches  making  deep  holes  in  the 
snow  at  every  step,  the  doctor  made  for  the  door,  which 
was  opened  hurriedly,  and  Mrs.  Allen  stood  pale  as 
death,  with  a  wild  light  in  her  eyes,  waiting  for  him  to 
coine  in. 

The  door  was  closed,  and  only  opened  for  a  moment 
for  the  pale,  stern  woman  to  come  forth,  with  a  blanket 
in  her  arms,  which  she  threw  over  the  smoking  horse, 
and  went  in  again. 

Then  a  dead,  heavy  blank  came  upon  the  house,  and 
all  that  surrounded  it.  The  horse  fell  into  a  doze  under 
his  blanket.  Not  a  living  thing  was  in  view,  nothing 
but  the  dreary  white  bosom  of  the  earth,  and  a  soft  curl 
of  smoke  that  rose  from  the  Thrasher  homestead,  which 
was  itself  invisible,  a  little  farther  over  the  hill,  though 
the  naked  twigs  of  the  poplar  trees  in  front  could  be 
seen  against  the  sky.  Once,  the  horse  started,  and 
pointed  his  ears,  as  if  some  familiar  sound  had  reached 


182  THE     VILLAGE     DOCTOR. 

him,  but  his  head  drooped  again  directly.  The  sound,  if 
any  had  troubled  him,  was  so  indistinct  that  he  rejected 
it  as  a  delusion.  When  the  doctor  came  out,  it  was 
with  a  thoughtful,  anxious  look  that  seldom  visited  his 
face.  No  one  followed  him  to  the  door,  and  he  sighed 
heavily  while  climbing  to  his  seat  on  the  saddle. 

On  his  way  home  the  doctor  met  several  persons,  who 
in  the  kind-hearted  curiosity  usual  to  the  place,  inquired 
who  was  sick  enough  to  call  him  out  in  such  terrible 
weather.  He  answered,  with  quizzical  gravity,  that  he 
had  been  to  visit  old  Mr.  Lane  over  the  hill,  a  man  of 
ninety,  who  was  suffering  dreadfully  with  the  whooping- 
cough. 

"  The  whooping-cough,  and  he  full  ninety — why  I 
never  heard  of  such  a  thing,"  said  one  of  the  questioners ; 
"  I  thought  nothing  but  children  ever  had  that  disease." 

"  True  enough ;  but  you  forget  that  old  Mr.  Lane  is 
in  his  second  childhood,"  answered  the  doctor. 

The  man's  face  brightened. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "  that  accounts  for  it.  I  never 
thought  of  the  second  childhood.  Does  the  old  chap 
whoop  much?" 

"  Awfully,  awfully !  Good-day !"  and  the  doctor  rode 
on,  chuckling  pleasantly  to  his  horse ;  but  the  gleam  of 
humor  soon  died  from  his  features,  and  they  grew 
anxious  again — so  anxious,  that  you  might  have  fancied 
that  his  visit  had  been  to  a  death-bed. 


THE     GRANDMOTHER    RELENTING.     183 
CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE   GRANDMOTHER   RELENTING. 

THE  widow  Allen  sat  by  her  kitchen  fire,  and  a  sterner, 
sadder  woman  never  drew  breath  than  she  appeared  on 
the  day  after  that  stormy  visit  from  the  doctor.  She 
was  waiting  for  him  now.  Her  eyes,  full  of  sullen 
thought,  dwelt  on  the  fire.  Her  feet  were  planted  hard 
on  the  hearth — every  thing  about  her  looked  unyield- 
ing and  stiff — the  high-backed  chair,  the  full  borders  of 
her  cap,  and  the  white  kerchief  folded  over  her  bosom — 
the  very  grief  in  her  features  seemed  frozen  there. 

"  Mother !" 

This  voice  came  from  an  inner  room,  the  one  which 
Mrs.  Allen  had  occupied  during  her  sickness.  Its  faint 
sweetness  drew  the  old  woman  from  her  sombre  mood. 
She  arose  and  entered  the  apartment  where  her  daugh- 
ter lay. 

The  room  was  dimly  lighted,  for  besides  the  usual 
blinds,  a  patch-work  quilt,  glowing  with  gorgeous  colors, 
had  been  stretched  across  the  only  window  it  contained. 
As  a  great  proportion  of  scarlet  and  green  predomina- 
ted in  the  quilt,  it  gave  a  richness  to  the  atmosphere 
somewhat  like  that  which  streams  through  stained  glass 
in  a  chancel  window. 

Katharine  lay  upon  the  bed  among  pillows,  white  as 
the  snow  drifting  outside,  and  with  a  pretty  cap  shading 
her  delicate  features. 

"  Did  you  call,  Katharine  ?"  questioned  the  mother, 
in  her  clear,  cold  way. 


184    THE    GRANDMOTHER     RELENTING. 

"  Yes,  mother ;  my  head  begins  to  ache.  A  little 
while  ago  I  was  cold,  now  hot  flushes  are  running  all 
over  me.  Is  this  fever,  do  you  think?" 

The  old  woman  lifted  a  corner  of  the  quilt  from  over 
the  window,  and  looked  in  her  daughter's  face. 

Katharine  shrunk  from  the  glance. 

"  Oh,  mother,  don't  look  at  me  so — it  makes  me  trem- 
ble 1" 

Mrs.  Allen  dropped  the  quilt,  and,  ignoring  the  fears 
of  her  child,  answered  to  the  first  question, 

"  You  are  getting  excited,  but  I  think  not  feverish." 

"Mother." 

"Well,  Katharine." 

"I  want — I  wish — " 

The  poor  thing  made  an  effort  to  pull  down  the  bed- 
clothes, but  her  hand  trembled  so  violently  that  she 
could  only  make  a  faint  signal  before  it  fell. 

The  mother  was  touched.  What  woman,  however  ag- 
grieved, would  have  resisted  those  mournful  eyes  ?  She 
went  close  to  the  bed,  and  turned  down  the  blanket.  A 
babe  lay  sleeping  on  that  young  creature's  bosom,  its 
little  hand  resting  like  a  rose  leaf,  on  her  neck.  A 
cloud  of  soft,  golden  hair  covered  its  head.  Mrs.  Al- 
len turned  her  face  away,  but  the  magnetism  of  those 
blue  eyes  drew  it  softly  toward  the  child. 

"  You  are  its  grandmother — and  oh,  tell  me  if  I  am 
your  child  yet  ?" 

The  young  creature  began  to  tremble  as  she  uttered 
these  words.  This  disturbed  the  infant,  and  the  grand- 
mother found  a  pair  of  soft,  dreamy  eyes  looking  into 
hers.  The  angels  who  guard  little  children  may  have 
thrown  a  heavenly  earnestness  into  the  child's  look ;  I 
do  not  know — but  it  touched  that  stern  heart  more  than 


THE     GRANDMOTHER    RELENTING.    185 

the  young  mother's  appeal  had  done.  She  stooped  and 
took  the  babe  in  her  arms  ;  a  thousand  sweet,  maternal 
recollections  rose  in  her  bosom  as  she  pillowed  it  there, 
and  laid  her  face  against  its  velvet  cheek. 

Katharine  smiled.  "  Mother,  is  it  like  me — like  what 
I  was  once  ?" 

"  Yes." 

The  woman  could  not  utter  another  word.  When  a 
rock  is  cleft,  the  fragments  half  choke  up  the  waters  that 
gush  through  them. 

"  Mother,  my  head  troubles  me,  and  I'm  afraid  if  fever 
comes  I  may  lose  my  senses  ;  but  I  know  every  thing 
now,  and  want  you  to  believe  me.  All  that  I  have  told 
you  is  true.  It  isn't  because  I  am  ashamed,  but  he  will 
be  here  in  a  few  days — I  am  sure  of  that.  It  is  now 
more  than  three  months,  and  he  promised  solemnly  to 
come  by  that  time.  This  is  why  we  must  not  say  any 
thing  to  the  neighbors ;  they  might  not  credit  me,  you 
know  ;  but  when  he  is  here,  who  will  dare  turn  against 
me  ?  You  believe  that  we  are  married,  dear  mother  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it,  Katharine." 

"  If  I  should  be  worse,  you  will  find  the  paper  in  the 
garret,  between  one  of  the  rafters  and  the  shingles. 
Nobody  must  be  allowed  to  say  a  word  against  this  child 
when  I  am  dead." 

"  Nor  against  my  child  Avlrile  I  live  !"  answered  Mrs. 
Allen.  "  For  this  reason,  it  must  be  made  known  in  the 
neighborhood  that  you  are  that  man's  wife." 

"Not  quite  yet.  It  will  be  time  enough  when  some 
one  comes,"  pleaded  the  young  creature.  "  Nelson  may 
be  on  the  road  now.  The  doctor  won't  tell,  he  promised 
me." 

She  was  getting  excited  with  opposition ;  her  cheeks 
were  scarlet.  The  soft  blue  eyes  began  to  glitter. 


186    THE     GRANDMOTHER     RELENTING. 

"Promise,  mother!  It  kills  me  to  think  what  the 
neighbors  will  say ;  but  when  he  comes,  I  shall  be  so 
proud  to  take  my  baby  in  my  arms — and — and — "  She 
broke  off,  and  lifting  one  hand  to  her  head,  began  waving 
it  to  and  fro. 

Mrs.  Allen  saw  that  there  was  great  danger  in  this 
agitation,  and  attempted  to  soothe  it. 

"  Promise  not  to  tell !  promise  not  to  tell  1"  cried  the 
invalid,  panting  for  breath,  and  moving  restlessly  on 
her  pillow. 

"  Yes,  Katharine ;  I  promise  not  to  say  any  thing  for 
a  week  at  least." 

"  He  will  be  here  in  a  week !  he  will  be  here  in  a 
week." 

Katharine  kept  whispering  this  over  and  over  again, 
until  she  fell  asleep  from  pure  exhaustion.  It  was  some 
time  before  the  crimson  flush  left  her  face,  or  the  quick 
breath  subsided  to  the  calm  respiration  that  followed  ; 
but  at  last  she  slept  tranquilly  as  the  infant  which  still 
lay  on  its  grandmother's  bosom. 

Mrs.  Allen  sat  down  by  the  kitchen  fire.  She  could 
not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  put  the  babe  away  after  its 
little  face  had  once  touched  her  own.  Seating  herself 
in  the  high-backed  chair,  she  began  rocking  to  and  fro 
— and  as  the  love  of  that  little  child  crept,  like  a  per- 
fume, to  her  heart,  hatred  to  its  father  slowly  disap- 
peared, as  a  kingly  essence  destroys  all  evil  odors.  She 
began  to  think  how  pleasant  it  would  be  to  live  in  closer 
connection  with  the  good  old  couple  over  the  hill,  and 
how  much  she  had  to  be  thankful  for,  that  her  daughter 
was  not,  in  fact,  the  outcast  she  had  almost  believed  her. 
As  this  spirit,  of  gratitude  took  possession  of  her  heart, 
she  began  to  hum  over  a  cradle  song,  which  had  almost 


THE     GRANDMOTHER     RELENTING.    187 

died  out  of  her  memory,  and  tender  dews  stole  into  her 
eyes,  of  which  she  was  quite  unconscious,  until  the  fire 
began  to  look  hazy  under  her  stead}7  glance. 

Our  God  uses  little  children  as  instruments  of  great 
tenderness.  They  want  no  key  to  the  hardest  heart ; 
but  go  in,  without  knocking,  and  nestle  themselves  like 
birds  in  a  strange  nest,  carrying  gentleness  and  bless- 
ings with  them.  So  it  was  with  this  little  mite  of  hu- 
manity. In  the  helplessness  of  its  animal  life,  it  ap- 
pealed to  the  stern  woman's  heart  without  challenging 
the  stubborn  pride  that  nothing  could  conquer.  So  she 
softened  down,  and  from  touching  the  little  face,  began 
to  kiss  it,  and  finally  converted  her  lap  into  a  cradle  and 
commenced  trotting  the  baby  on  her  knees  with  the  most 
womanly  gentleness. 

The  doctor  found  her  in  this  condition  when  he  came 
in  the  afternoon.  Katharine  was  still  asleep,  and  the 
two  held  a  confidential  talk  on  the  hearth-stone,  in  which 
the  young  creature's  condition  was  thoroughly  discussed. 
When  told  of  the  great  dread  which  the  young  mother 
felt  regarding  any  present  publicit}7  being  given  to  her 
marriage,  or  the  existence  of  the  child,  the  doctor  rather 
sided  with  that  view  of  the  question. 

"  The  truth  is,"  he  said,  "we  should  have  gossip  and 
questions,  guesses  and  scandal,  running  through  the 
neighborhood  like  wildfire.  Let  the  3roung  fellow  come 
back  and  settle  the  whole  matter  for  himself.  There  is 
no  reason  on  earth  why  you  should  see  company.  Be- 
sides, the  state  of  the  roads  will  keep  everybody  away." 

"  I  never  have  much  companj",  and  don't  want  any 
just  now ;  as  for  explaining  what " 

"  Is  nobody's  business ;  why,  it's  just  what  you  dis- 
like, and  the  thought  of  it  has,  by  your  own  account, 


188    THE     GRANDMOTHER    RELENTING. 

driven  the  young  creature  half  beside  herself.  Just  let 
the  thing  alone,  Mrs.  Allen ;  where  there  is  no  one  to 
talk  with,  there  is  nothing  to  tell." 

"  I  will  neither  seek  my  neighbors,  nor  withhold  the 
truth  if  they  demand  it  of  me,"  said  the  widow. 

The  doctor  gathered  up  his  crutches,  with  a  show  of 
impatience,  and  muttered  something  not  over  compli- 
mentary to  the  sea,  and  all  that  followed  it. 

His  voice  aroused  the  patient  in  the  next  room,  who 
called  out : 

"  Who  is  there,  mother  ?     Has  he  come  ?" 

The  doctor  stumped  across  the  room,  and  stood  bal- 
anced on  his  crutches  looking  at  her. 

"  Oh,  is  it  you,  doctor  ?"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that 
plainly  spoke  the  disappointment  that  she  felt. 

"  Well,  it  seems  impossible  to  mistake  myself  for  any- 
body else,  or  I  should  deny  being  fool  enough  to  come 
this  road  twice." 

"  But  you  are  here.  It  is  very,  very  kind.  You  don't 
know  how  much  I  feel  it ;  besides,  I  want  to  say  some- 
thing." 

"  Never  mind,  I  know  what  it  is ;  have  been  talking 
it  over  in  the  next  room.  Want  to  be  quiet,  natural ; 
sick  people  always  do.  Hate  to  have  a  lot  of  old  women 
screeching  over  the  baby,  and  asking  questions  enough 
to  drive  a  Christian  mother  into  Bedlam — natural  again, 
why  not?  nuisance — women  ought  to  be  prohibited  as 
a  sex  by  act  of  Congress — a  few  exceptions,  no  doubt ; 
but  patriotic  women  are  ready  to  be  flung  overboard  for 
the  general  good." 

Katharine  looked  a  little  bewildered,  and  quite  weary. 
She  was  thinking  about  her  own  troubles,  and  had  not 
strength  enough  for  any  thing  else. 


THE     GRANDMOTHER    RELENTING.     189 

"  Did  any  one  ask  you  about  us,  doctor?" 

"About  you  ?   no — about  where  I  was  going,  fifty." 

"And  you  told  them  ?" 

"  Yes,  of  course  I  told  'em  ;  why  not  ?" 

Katharine  turned  very  white,  and  gasped  for  breath. 

"  You  told  them  about  me — about  my  baby  ?" 

"  Bah  child,  no  ;  but  I  told  'em  old  Lane  had  caught 
the  whooping-cough,  and  that  will  keep  the  whole  town 
in  gossip  at  least  a  week." 

Katharine  began  to  laugh— she  was  but  a  young 
thing,  and  the  idea  amused  her  excessively. 

"  Stop  that,  or  it'll  end  in  hysterics,"  he  said,  frown- 
ing upon  her  with  comical  affectation ;  but  she  smiled 
yet,  and  her  pale  cheek  flushed.  Still,  the  anxieties  that 
pressed  upon  her  were  too  real,  and  she  became  grave 
again. 

"  You  wont  say  anything  about  it,  please,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  The  minute  he  comes,  they  shall  know  every- 
thing. I'm  not  very  strong ;  if  it  wasn't  for  that  you 
should  read  the  certificate  now ;  but  it's  up-stairs,  and 
so  we  must  wait." 

"  Never  mind,  my  little  Katy-did,  I  can  wait,  and  so 
shall  the  rest  of  them ;  never  fear." 

"  You're  very  good  !"  murmured  Katharine,  faintly ; 
"  I  shall  sleep  without  dreaming  such  frightful  things 
after  this." 

She  closed  her  eyes  a  moment,  and  then  opened  them 
with  a  start. 

"Where's  the  baby?" 

"  In  your  mother's  lap — don't  you  hear  her  buzzing 
over  it  like  a  bumble  bee  ?" 

"  Is  it — is  that  her?"  whispered  the  young  mother, 
and  a  beautiful  smile  stole  into  her  eyes.  "  I  don't  re- 
member ever  hearing  her  sing  before." 


190  A     GRAVE     IN      THE     SNOW. 

"  Oh,  she'll  soon  break  in — no  fool  like  a  grand- 
mother." 

"  How  pleasant  it  sounds,"  murmured  the  young 
mother,  listening  to  the  low  hum  which  came  from  the 
next  room,  and  ignoring  the  doctor's  speech  entirely. 
"  I  didn't  know  mother's  voice  was  so  sweet.  It  makes 
me  sleepy." 

"  Then  shut  your  eyes  and  go  to  dreaming  at  once ; 
a  good  sleep  will  do  you  more  good  than  I  can,"  said 
the  doctor,  wheeling  round  on  his  crutches,  and  stump- 
ing off  into  the  next  room.  Here  he  gave  Mrs.  Allen  a 
quaint  reprimand  for  allowing  her  patient  to  put  herself 
into  a  fever,  and  warned  her  that  the  next  excitement 
might  go  to  the  brain  and  raise  the  mischief.  Then  he 
chucked  the  baby  under  its  mite  of  a  chin,  which  the 
little  thing  returned  with  an  incipient  hiccough  instead 
of  a  smile,  which  was  altogether  beyond  its  powers, 
after  which  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  off,  chuck- 
ling over  the  mystifications  which  all  questioners  were 
sure  to  get,  on  his  way  home. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

A   GRAVE   IN    THE    SNOW. 

IT  chanced,  during  the  week,  that  another  fall  of  snow 
blocked  up  the  roads  just  as  they  were  getting  well 
trodden  down.  This  kept  the  people  in-doors,  and  Mrs. 
Allen  was  left  to  the  entire  solitude  she  so  much  desired. 
The  doctor  only  came  once  after  the  visit  we  have  men- 


A     QEAVE    IX     THE     SNOW.  191 

tioned.  That  time  Mrs.  Allen  had  been  compelled  to 
leave  the  house.  Her  firewood  was  out,  and  she  had 
gone  in  search  of  a  neighbor  who  had  promised  her  to 
haul  a  load  from  the  forest  back  of  Castle  Rock.  The 
distance  was  considerable,  and  the  walking  toilsome, 
beside  the  neighbor  she  sought  had  gone  out  after  his 
team  and  she  was  compelled  to  wait. 

It  was  during  her  absence  that  the  doctor  went  to  the 
house.  He  found  Katharine  improving  ;  still  excitable 
on  the  subject  of  her  husband's  return,  and  listening 
for  his  step  at  every  movement,  but  apparently  so 
happy  with  the  growth  of  her  child,  that  even  this  crav- 
ing wish  could  not  materially  impede  her  well-doing. 

The  doctor  had  n  tedious  ride  before  him,  and  only 
remained  long  enough  to  be  sure  that  there  was  really 
nothing  to  require  his  stay,  and  rode  off.  He  was  in 
the  more  haste  because  dull,  leaden  clouds  were  gather- 
ing in  the  sky,  and  fine  snow  came  down  at  intervals, 
threatening  a  heavier  fall. 

On  his  way  down  the  hill  he  met  the  town  carrier,  a  man 
who  distributed  papers,  and  transported  parcels  for  the 
whole  neighborhood,  to  and  from  New  Haven,  twice 
each  week.  Sometimes  he  brought  letters  from  the 
post-office.  Indeed,  from  a  three  cent  whistle  to  a 
dressed  pig  in  killing  time,  he  refused  nothing  that 
came  within  the  capacity  of  his  one-horse  wagon,  or 
could  be  sheltered  \>y  its  oil-cloth  cover.  This  man 
nodded  to  the  doctor,  and  after  passing  him,  gave  a 
little  blast  from  his  tin  horn  to  notify  the  next  house 
that  he  was  about  to  stop  there. 

This  house  was  Mrs.  Allen's,  Katharine  was  in  her 
room,  and  was  ignorant  that  her  mother  had  not  re- 
turned. She  started  up  in  bed  at  the  first  sound  of  the 
horn,  and  cried  out : 


192  A     GRAVE     IN     THE     SNOW. 

"  Run,  mother,  run.  It  is  the  carrier,  he  may  bring 
news.  Nelson  has  come  passenger.  I'm  sure  of  it!" 

The  carrier  drew  up  before  the  house,  and  waited  a 
minute  for  some  one  to  come  forth.  But  no  one  ap- 
peareed,  and  with  an  impatient  growl  at  the  delay  he 
jumped  out  of  his  wagon,  opened  the  street  door,  and 
flung  a  letter  through,  muttering  that  he  would  call 
for  the  postage  some  other  time,  a  storm  was  coming 
on,  and  he  was  late  already. 

Katharine  saw  the  letter,  gave  a  cry  of  joy,  such  as 
those  humble  walls  never  heard  again,  and  sprang  to 
the  floor,  leaving  her  child  asleep  in  the  bed.  She 
seized  the  letter  and  tore  it  open ;  three  or  four  bank 
notes  fluttered  around  her,  falling  unheeded,  about  the 
room.  She  strove  to  read,  but  the  paper  rattled  in  her 
hands — dizzy  and  weak  she  could  not  distinguish  a 
word  of  the  few  that  danced  before  her  eyes.  She  went 
back  to  the  bed,  seized  one  of  the  posts  of  the  bedstead, 
and  steadied  herself  desperately. 

"  Katharine,  it  cannot  be  helped,  I  am  going  on  a 
whaling  voyage ;  nothing  better  presented  itself,  and  I 
must  not  be  idle.  The  ship  will  be  gone  three  years  at 
least,  perhaps  more,  but  there  is  a  chance  for  making 
money.  I  send  you  all  that  has  been  advanced  to  me  ; 
when  that  is  gone  go  to  my  father,  as  I  told  you, 

"NELSON  THRASHER." 

She  grew  blind.  A  dull,  sickening  weight  fell  upon 
her.  She  strove  to  creep  into  bed,  clambered  to  the 
edge  upon  her  knees,  and  fell  forward,  with  her  face 
pressed  to  the  pillow,  which  settled  slowly  down,  and 
buried  the  sleeping  child — a  struggle — a  faint,  stifled 
sound — a  scarcely  perceptible  upheaving  of  the  pillow, 
and  all  was  still. 


A     GRAVE     IN    THE     SNOW.  193 

There  was  no  change  in  the  mother ;  white  as  marble, 
she  had  fallen  upon  her  face — lifeless  as  marble  she 
lay  until  th'e  great  clock  in  the  kitchen  tolled  the  hour. 

The  struggle  of  her  coming  misery  was  terrible.  She 
turned  and  sat  upon  the  bed,  with  her  white  feet  hang- 
ing over  the  edge.  The  shawl  which  Mrs.  Allen  had 
folded  over  her  shoulders  from  fear  of  cold,  hung  loosely 
adown  her  Long  night  robe.  She  began  to  shiver,  and 
drew  it  around  her,  hugging  it  to  her  bosom,  but  some 
idea  of  its  emptiness  seized  upon  her.  She  opened  the 
shawl  and  looked  down  upon  her  flowing  night  dress 
wonderingly,  as  if  she  had  lost  something.  Then  her 
eyes  were  turned  vaguely  around  the  bed.  She  lifted  a 
corner  of  the  blanket,  and  finding  nothing,  impatiently 
pushed  the  pillow  aside. 

There  it  lay — her  little  babe,  asleep,  and  yet  not 
asleep.  Insane  fire  flashed  to  her  eyes ;  fever  leaped, 
and  burned  in  all  her  veins ;  angry  defiance  blazed  in 
her  face.  She  was  stunned  before,  but  maddened  now. 
Somebody  had  been  trying  to  kill  her  babe  with  too 
much  warmth.  Her  mother  had  done  it.  Her  stern 
mother,  who  never  would  forgive,  and  had  always  hated 
the  Thrasher  blood.  She  would  come  back  and  try 
again.  How  flushed  and  hot  its  little  face  looked.  How 
menacingly  its  tiny  fist  was  clenched.  Something  very 
cruel  must  have  been  done  before  it  came  to  that.  How 
soundly  she  had  slept  to  know  nothing  of  this.  But 
her  mother  should  never  harm  it  again.  She  knew  of  a 
nice  cool  place  under  the  great  butternut  where  it  could 
have  a  beautiful  blanket  of  snow,  with  light  icicles 
shimmering  over  it  from  the  branches.  Nobody  could 
find  it  there,  and  that  strange  look  of  pain  would  change 
to  quiet  sleep. 
12 


194  A    GRAVE     IN     THE     SNOW. 

Prompted  by  these  insane  thoughts,  the  young 
mother  seized  her  child,  folded  it  closely  to  her  bosom, 
under  the  shawl,  and  fled  from  the  house.  She  hurried 
on,  her  white  feet  sinking  in  the  snow  at  every  step. 
The  crust  cut  her  ankles,  but  she  was  unaware  of  the 
pain.  The  wind  whistled  through  her  night  dress,  but 
she  only  laughed — its  sharpness  would  drive  that  terri- 
ble red  from  her  baby's  face.  She  clambered  the  stone 
wall  twice,  into  the  orchard,  and  across  another  lot,  un- 
til she  reached  the  rock  beneath  the  butternut  branches, 
now  without  a  leaf. 

A  shelf  of  the  rock  shot  out  from  the  drift  that  almost 
buried  it.  She  took  off  her  shawl,  wrapped  it  tenderly 
about  the  child,  laid  it  on  this  shelf,  and  began  to  work. 
She  tore  the  glittering  crust  away,  fell  upon  her  knees, 
and  commenced  hurling  the  loose  snow  out  with  her 
hands,  until  a  cradle  was  scooped  in  the  drift.  Then 
she  gathered  up  an  armful  of  the  flakes,  moulded  and 
patted  them  into  a  pillow,  and  hushing  the  baby  in  her 
arms  a  moment,  laid  it  down.  She  covered  it  with  a 
soft  blanket  of  snow,  placed  the  icy  crust  carefully  over 
it,  and  then  stopped,  and  looked  about  bewildered,  as 
if  wondering  what  she  could  do  next. 

By  this  time  the  cold  had  pierced  her  to  the  vitals, 
but  the  fever  met  it  fiercely  and  shook  that  delicate  form 
like  a  reed.  She  sat  down  on  the  rock,  gazing  at  the  little 
white  grave,  as  if  she  had  just  buried  her  heart  there; 
and  was  afraid  that  some  one  would  trample  on  it.  The 
cold  was  doing  its  work ;  a  few  moments  more  and  she 
would  never  have  left  the  rock  again.  But  some  imagin- 
ary noise  frightened  her.  She  started  up,  forgot  every 
thing,  and  flew  toward  the  house — the  light  hair  floating 
back  from  under  her  cap,  and  her  thin  garments  flutter- 


I 

THE     BUTTERNUT     TREE.  195 

ing  through  the  atmosphere  like  shadows.  The  door 
was  partly  open — she  darted  in,  crossed  the  kitchen, 
and  springing  to  the  centre  of  her  bed,  covered  herself 
up  with  the  clothes,  shuddering  and  laughing  in  the 
same  breath. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A  CROWD  UNDER  THE  BUTTERNUT  TREE. 

AT  last  the  old  woman  came  in.  With  the  sly  in- 
stincts of  insanity,  Katharine  lay  still,  holding  the 
blankets  over  her  head,  pretending  to  be  asleep. 

The  old  lady  did  not  attempt  to  disturb  her,  but 
merely  looked  in  to  see  that  all  was  quiet,  and  went  to 
the  kitchen.  To  her  surprise,  she  found  the  outer  door 
open.  The  wind  had  swept  in,  scattering  snow  and 
ashes  over  the  floor.  This  had  produced  a  draught 
down  the  wide-mouthed  chimney,  and  filled  the  room 
with  smoke.  Mrs.  Allen  threw  up  a  sash,  which  pro- 
duced an  eddy  of  wind  and  sent  some  loose  papers  fly- 
ing toward  the  hearth — one,  which  seemed  to  be  a  let- 
ter, floated  by  her  and  was  drawn  up  the  chimney, 
catching  fire  as  it  went ;  another  was  following,  but  she 
grasped  it  in  time,  and  found  that  the  flimsy  bit  of 
silk  paper  was  a  bank  bill  of  considerable  amount. 
Two  others  she  picked  up  from  the  floor. 

Who  could  have  been  in  her  house  ?  How  was  it  pos- 
sible for  so  much  money  to  have  found  its  way  there  ? 
She  went  into  the  bedroom,  resolved  to  question  Katha- 


196  THEBUTTERNUT     TREE. 

rine,  who  heard  her  coming,  and  crouched  under  the 
bedclothes. 

"  Katharine !  Katharine !" 

No  answer. 

The  old  lady,  fearing  she  scarcely  knew  what,  went 
up  to  the  bed  and  turned  down  the  clothes.  There  was 
a  little  resistance,  and  then  Katharine  looked  up  with  a 
frightened  smile,  trembling  terribly  either  with  dread  or 
cold. 

"  Who  has  been  here  since  I  went  away,  Katharine  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  But  look !     Where  did  all  this  money  come  from  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

And,  indeed,  she  did  not  know,  never  having  taken  a 
thought  of  that  portion  of  Thrasher's  letter ;  even  the 
epistle  itself  only  whirled  through  the  chaos  of  her  mind, 
like  dead  leaves  in  a  tempest. 

Mrs.  Allen  examined  the  money  again,  while  Katha- 
rine eyed  her  with  the  sharp  cunning  of  insanity. 

"  How  you  shake,  child  ?  The  open  door  has  given 
you  a  chill." 

"It  was  too  warm!  too  warm!"  muttered  the  poor 
creature  ;  "  crimson  hot,  crimson  hot !" 

Mrs.  Allen  was  so  surprised  with  the  money  that  she 
did  not  heed  the  strange  murmur  of  her  daughter.  She 
put  the  bills  away  in  an  old  teapot  in  the  corner  cup- 
board. Then  something  struck  her  as  unnatural  in  the 
stillness  of  the  room,  and  she  went  back  again. 

"  Is  the  baby  asleep  yet  ?"  she  inquired,  sitting  down 
by  the  bed. 

Katharine  shrunk  away  from  her ;  but  answered  in  a 
quick,  eager  way  : 

"Yes;  it  sleeps  sweetly,  sweetly,  sweetly." 


THE     BUTTERNUT     TREE.  197 

This  strange  repetition  of  one  word  drew  Mrs.  Allen's 
attention  more  closely  to  the  invalid.  There  was  some- 
thing strange  in  her  face — a  gleam  of  vigilant  cunning 
in  the  eyes  that  made  the  mother  anxious. 

"  How  soundly  the  little,  thing  sleeps,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  soundly,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Move  a  little,  and  let  me  take  it  up." 

"No!" 

A  look  of  defiance  came  into  that  beautiful  face. 
Katharine  was  resolved  to  defend  her  secret  to  the  last 
moment. 

Mrs.  Allen  became  frightened ;  forced  the  bedclothes 
from  that  feeble  grasp,  and  stooped  down  to  search  for 
the  child. 

It  was  gone  ! 

"  Where — oh,  Katharine — where  is  the  baby  ?" 

A  gleam  of  infinite  craft  stole  into  those  blue  eyes. 

"What  baby?" 

"  Yours,  yours — our  own  little  child  !  who  has  taken 
it  away  ?" 

"Nobody." 

"  Then  where  is  it  ?" 

"Asleep ;  didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?" 

Mrs.  Allen  rushed  into  the  kitchen  and  searched  it  in 
every  corner.  The  smoke  had  cleared  away,  and  she 
discovered  tracks  of  a  small,  naked  foot  in  the  loose 
snow  that  had  drifted  into  the  room.  Where  was  the 
child  ?  what  could  have  happened  ?  Mrs.  Allen  rushed 
distractedly  into  the  street,  just  as  the  neighbor  whom 
she  had  been  in  search  of  drove  up  with  a  load  of  wood 
on  his  sled. 

"Hello!  what's  the  matter,  Mrs.  Allen?"  he  called 
out,  as  she  came  toward  the  gate,  pale  as  death,  and 
wringing  her  hands. 


198  THE     BUTTERNUT     TREE. 

"  Our  baby — my  little  grandchild — it  is  gone !" 

The  man  stopped  and  emitted  a  low  whistle. 

"  So  there  was  something  in  all  that  talk,"  he  mut- 
tered, "hard  as  I  stood  up  for  her." 

"  I  only  left  to  run  down  to  your  house — we  hadn't 
another  armful  of  wood.  When  I  came  back,  the  out- 
door was  open,  the  room  full  of  smoke,  and  she  all  alone  1 
Oh,  God  help  me,  what  can  I  do !" 

"  Just  go  into  the  house,  and  let  us  talk  it  all  over," 
said  the  kind-hearted  farmer,  leaving  his  oxen ;  "I  don't 
understand." 

"  Oh,  we  cannot  stop  to  talk — the  child  must  be  found. 
Isn't  that  Mr.  Stokes  coming  up  the  hill  ?  Call  him— 
we  must  search — we  must  find  it." 

The  farmer  called  out  for  Mr.  Stokes  to  hurry  forward, 
and  at  the  same  time  ran  to  meet  him.  The  two  men 
stood  talking  together  some  minutes,  then  came  toward 
the  house  in  company. 

Mrs.  Allen  had  gone  back  to  her  daughter,  and  with 
tears  raining  down  her  face,  was  pleading  with  her. 
Poor  woman !  it  was  many  years  since  she  had  cried 
like  that,  but  when  an  infant  comes  to  a  lonely  house, 
the  fountain  of  tears  is  sure  to  swell  afresh  in  the  most 
stern  bosom.  The  sweet  word,  "  grandmother,"  had 
been  applied  to  her.  The  baby's  little  heart  had  stirred 
against  her  own ;  without  that  child,  all  the  stern  deso- 
lation of  her  life  would  come  back  again. 

But  Katharine  could  not  answer. 

The  two  men  came  in,  looking  curious  and  excited ; 
their  presence  seemed  to  strike  Katharine  dumb.  She 
lay  with  her  eyes  wide  open,  staring  at  them.  A  vague 
smile  wandered  on  her  lips  as  they  questioned  her,  but 
no  words. 


THE     BUTTERNUT     TREE. 

Baffled  and  still  anxious,  the  men  went  into  the 
kitchen  again,  leaving  Mrs.  Allen  behind.  They  saw 
the  tracks  still  imprinted  on  the  floor,  and  followed 
them  with  keen  observation.  The  tracks  continued  out 
into  the  yard,  turned  there,  and  led  toward  the  orchard. 
One  naked  footprint  was  stamped  on  the  top  of  the 
stone  wall,  as  if  a  leap  had  pressed  it  deeply  there. 
After  this  there  was  little  trouble — broken  places  in  the 
snow  crust  led  them  on  till  they  stood  by  the  rock 
under  the  butternut  tree. 

It  is  strange  how  soon  a  crowd  will  collect,  if  any 
thing  unusual  is  going  on,  even  in  the  remotest  places. 
A  good  many  people  were  on  the  road,  some  going  to 
the  stores  at  Chewstown  or  Falls  Hill,  some  taking  grists 
to  mill,  and  others  loitering  on  their  way  to  the  tavern, 
whose  red  sign  swung  on  the  river  road  a  little  beyond 
Rock  Spring. 

Before  the  two  men,  who  tracked  that  terrible  path, 
had  touched  the  little  white  grave  by  the  rock,  some 
half-dozen  persons  had  collected  around  it.  A  feeling 
of  awe  kept  the  first  comers  from  touching  the  broken 
snow-crust ;  but  now,  a  man  in  the  crowd  thrust  it  aside 
with  his  foot,  and  the  rest  set  to  work. 

It  took  but  little  time  to  remove  the  white  covering 
beneath,  and,  after  a  moment's  work,  the  dead  infant 
was  found  wrapped  in  a  shawl,  which  was  recognized 
by  more  than  one  present  as  belonging  to  Katharine 
Allen. 

A  feeling  of  profound  consternation  fell  upon  the 
little  group  of  farmers,  as  they  lifted  the  infant  from  its 
grave.  The  face,  now  pale  and  cold,  was  all  uncovered, 
flakes  of  snow  trembled  in  the  golden  hair,  and  the 
winds  blew  over  it  so  sharply,  that  one  of  the  men  put 


200  THE     BUTTERNUT     TREE. 

forth  his  hand,  and  drew  the  shawl  softly  over  its  head, 
muttering,  "  God  forgive  its  mother  I" 

No  funeral  ever  was  marked  with  more  solemn  faces 
than  those  which  followed  the  dead  infant  back  to  the 
house.  No  word  was  spoken  aloud,  but  hoarse  whispers 
passed  from  lip  to  lip,  and  the  hardiest  man  there 
shrunk  from  carrying  that  mournful  burden  into  the 
presence  of  its  grandmother. 

A  terrible  presentiment  of  the  truth  had  fallen  upon 
the  old  woman.  She  had  failed  to  win  any  thing  from 
her  daughter,  and,  with  a  sinking  heart,  listened  to  the 
men  crunching  the  snow  under  their  feet,  as  they  went 
toward  the  orchard.  For  the  world  she  could  not  have 
gone  to  the  door  or  remained  upright  upon  her  feet.  The 
old  high-back  chair  stood  on  the  hearth ;  she  sat  down. 
The  fire  flamed  up  and  flickered  over  her  white  features. 
Those  little  tracks  upon  the  floor  fascinated  her  gaze. 
They  melted  and  run  into  each  other,  taking  uncouth 
shapes,  but,  in  her  eyes,  there  had  been  no  change. 
These  two  little  footprints,  in  disappearing  from  the 
floor,  seemed  to  burn  themselves  into  her  heart. 

She  sat  still  listening,  but  there  was  no  sound  except 
the  soughing  of  the  wind  among  the  naked  apple  trees. 
Katharine  lay  still  in  her  bed,  exulting  in  the  safety 
which  she  had  secured  for  her  child,  but  craftily  silent 
lest  some  one  should  find  out  her  secret.  Filled  with 
this  idea  she  held  her  breath,  as  if  that  would  betray 
her 

Thus  the  stillness  was  profound.  There  was  no  con- 
fusion in  the  woman's  mind  now.  Her  quick,  clear  in- 
tellect had  seized  upon  the  broad  facts  of  the  case.  She 
struggled  against  them,  but  the  child  was  gone,  and 
those  footprints  on  the  floor  were  obliterating,  but  not 


THE     SAILOR.  201 

dried  out.  After  a  time  she  heard  a  strange  sound  in 
the  road — the  heavy  tramp  of  feet,  followed  by  sup- 
pressed voices  near  the  gate.  With  a  prayer  to  God 
she  arose,  walked  to  the  door,  cast  it  wide  open,  and 
stood  on  the  threshold  with  her  arms  extended.  It  was 
like  laying  a  dead  child  into  a  dead  woman's  bosom 
when  the  man  placed  his  burden  in  those  arms. 


CHAPTER  XXYII. 

THE   SAILOR   AND   HIS   TWO   COMPANIONS. 

IN  one  of  those  common  hotels,  frequented  by  the 
better  class  of  seamen  who  enter  New  York,  David 
Rice  had  taken  up  his  quarters,  accompanied  by  little 
Paul  and  Jube.  With  the  bravery  of  a  Nelson,  he  had 
carried  the  disabled  brig  safely  into  a  Southern  port, 
with  her  cargo  all  safe ;  an  act  of  heroism  that  had  se- 
cured the  warmest  approbation  of  her  owners,  and  what 
was  far  better,  an  appointment  to  the  command  of  the 
craft  he  had  saved. 

While  the  repairs  were  going  on,  David,  exultant  and 
happy,  had  proceeded  with  his  two  friends  to  the  com- 
mercial emporium,  where  he  became  sadly  puzzled  what 
course  to  take  next,  for  two  more  simple  hearted  and 
helpless  creatures  never  existed. 

"  Now,"  said  David,  going  into  a  select  committee  of 
one  on  the  subject ;  "  now  when  a  chap  saves  the  life  of 
another  chap,  big  or  little,  and  turns  his  face  about 
from  a  long  voyage,  where  all  is  provided  for,  he's  in 


202  THE     SAILOR. 

duty  bound  to  adopt  that  other  chap,  and  take  good 
care  of  him  so  long  as  he  can't  take  care  of  himself. 
Now  that's  just  your  case,  David  Rice.  What  on  arth 
can  these  poor  critters  do  without  you  ?  Nothing — 
that's  sartin.  What  can  you  do  for  them  ? — there's  the 
puzzler.  As  for  work,  the  nigger  is  strong  as  a  lion ; 
but  he's  used  to  hot  weather,  and  a  cold  snap  curls  him 
right  up.  As  for  the  boy — poor  little  soul — no  Yankee 
baby  was  ever  half  so  helpless ;  and  yet,  how  brave  the 
little  chap  is !  What  am  I  to  do  with  'em  ?  They  can't 
live  here  when  I'm  away  to  sea;  and  as  for  working, 
why  the  nigger  himself  hasn't  the  least  idee  what  work 
means!" 

This  consultation  was  held  in  English,  while  its  objects 
sat  close  together,  looking  at  the  sailor  as  he  laid  down 
the  case  and  expostulated  with  himself,  pro  and  con, 
with  considerable  energy. 

"  Jube,"  he  said,  in  broken  French,  feeling  in  sad  want 
of  counsel,  "  Jube,  what  do  you  say  to  living  in  the 
country?" 

"  Oh,  anywhere  Jube  is  ready  to  live — anywhere  that 
little  masser  and  you  like !"  cried  the  negro,  eagerly. 

"  Well,  say  in  a  nice,  cosy  place  up  in  Connecticut, 
with  plenty  of  chores  to  do,  and  no  hard  work." 

"  Yes,  masser  Rice,"  said  Jube,  attempting  English. 

"  Then,  our  little  Paul,  he  ought  to  go  to  school — 
capital  district  school  on  Shrub  Oak — beautiful  red 
school-house,  with  the  turnpike  running  in  front,  and  a 
river  back  of  it.  You  can  hear  the  water  sing  all  clay 
long,  behind  the  hemlock  bushes.  Besides,  there's  an 
apple  tree  at  one  end  that  bears  splendid  green  apples, 
and  a  bell  pear  tree,  that  the  scholars  are  forbid  to  look 
at.  Then — keep  that  to  yourself  Paul,  no  one  but  Kate 


THE     SAILOR.  203 

ever  found  it  out — but,  there's  a  hollow  at  one  end  of 
the  school-house,  and  the  banks  are  covered  with  straw- 
berry vines,  white  in  the  spring,  and  red  all  under  the 
grass  where  the  sun  has  shined  on  'em  long  enough — 
sich  strawberries,  plump  as  a  baby's  mouth,  and  sweet 
as  its  kisses.  What  do  you  think  of  that,  Paul  ?" 

The  little  fellow  did  not  quite  comprehend  what  Rice 
was  talking  about,  but  the  subject  seemed  a  pleasant 
one,  so  he  replied,  in  broken  English,  that  he  should 
like  it  very  much  indeed. 

"  Yes,"  said  Dave,  kindling  into  enthusiasm  by  a  re- 
membrance of  his  own  school  days,  brief  as  they  had 
been,  and  spent  in  a  much  less  pleasant  place  than  the 
one  he  described.  "  Yes,  I  kinder  see  you  now,  with 
yer  dinner  basket  on  one  arm — the  squaws,  back  of 
Chewstown,  make  scrumptious  little  baskets,  now  I  tell 
yer — and  Webster's  blue-covered  spelling  book  under 
t'other,  a  marching  off  to  that  ere  seat  of  laming  Which 
I've  been  telling  you  about.  The  picter  is  so  enticing 
that  I'm  in  a  hurry  to  begin.  Have  you  ever  been  to 
school?" 

The  boy  looked  at  Jube  in  doubt  what  to  answer. 

"  District  school,  I  mean,"  said  Dave,  with  a  flourish 
of  the  hand.  "  Where  the  master  or  mistress  boards 
about,  and  ferrules  the  children  with  a  pine  ruler,  if 
they  don't  toe  a  crack  every  spelling  time." 

"  No,"  said  Paul,  meekly,  "  I  never  did." 

"  Nor  you  nuther,  Jube  ?" 

Jube  opened  his  great  eyes  in  wonder  at  the  question. 
It  seemed  too  astonishing  for  any  other  reply. 

"  Then  you  hain't  neither  of  you  got  a  bit  of  laming  ?" 
continued  Rice,  patronizingly,  "  can't  read  nor  write,  I 
reckon." 


20-i  THE     SAILOR. 

Paul  understood  this,  and  brightened  up. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Monsieur  Rice,  I  read  and*  write,  and  do 
much  things  in  French.  All  my  life  the  tutor  has 
taught  me  how." 

"  You  can,  eh !  then  jist  show  us  what  kind  of  a  fist 
you  make  of  it.  Hallo,  here,  waiter,  bring  up  pen  and 
ink,  with  some  paper.  I  want  to  see  how  far  this  little 
chap  has  got  along  in  his  eddecation." 

The  orders  were  obeyed,  and  Paul  sat  down  to  the 
rickety  table,  smiling  as  he  began  to  write.  Rice  stood 
with  his  feet  wide  apart  and  a  hand  in  each  pocket, 
looking  over  the  boy's  shoulder. 

"  By  jingo,  you  write  like  a  lady  !"  he  cried,  filled 
with  exultation ;  "  and  hain't  never  been  to  school !  it's 
'stonishing.  Now  let  me  hear  you  spell.  We'll  skip 
over  the  abs,  and  plunge  right  into  deep  laming  at  once. 
Now  spell  Baker." 

Rice  plunged  his  hands  deeper  into  both  pockets  and 
shook  himself  like  a  mastiff,  satisfied  that  the  boy  had 
got  a  puzzler  now.  And  so  he  had,  for  it  was  his  first 
effort  at  English,  and  the  word,  as  he  tried  to  syllable  it, 
was  so  sweetly  broken  that  Dave  shook  his  head. 

"Isn't  it  right?"  inquired  Paul,  anxiously. 

"  Well,  no,  not  exactly ;  but  don't  be  down-hearted. 
It's  a  tough  word.  I  remember  studying  it  over  and 
over  again.  So  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip." 

"  But  I  shall  learn  English  ?"  said  Paul. 

"  In  course  you  shall.  There's  a  seat  in  Shrub  Oak 
school-house  waiting  for  you  now — the  very  one  sister 
Kate  used  to  set  in,  bless  her  purty  face — won't  she  knit 
woollen  comforters  for  you.  The  old  woman,  too.  I 
say,  look  a  here,  shaver,  you  never  saw  such  a  home  as 
you'll  find  with  my  women  folks.  No  skim  milk  about 
them,  now  I  tell  you." 


THE     SAILOR.  205 

"Is  there  good  fire,"  inquired  Jube,  shivering  with 
the  cold,  though  a  bright  blaze  flamed  on  the  hearth. 

"  A  good  fire  ?  Well  I  should  think  so — back  logs  as 
big  as  porpoises,  and  fore  sticks  to  match,  trust  the  old 
woman  for  that." 

Jube  rubbed  his  hands,  and  displayed  the  edge  of  his 
firm,  white  teeth  in  a  satisfied  smile.  Warmth  was  the 
thing  he  pined  for  just  then. 

"  Now  that  it's  settled,  supposing  we  go  out  and  get 
some  good  thick  clothes  for  the  shaver,  Jube ;  them  silk 
stockings  and  finefied  shoes  aint  the  thing,  though  you 
do  wash  and  brush  them  when  he's  asleep.  We  must 
have  socks  and  boots,  and  a  good  thick  overcoat,  with 
a  seal-skin  cap  that  turns  down  at  the  ears,  and  yarn 
mittins.  But  them,  the  old  woman  will  knit,  striped 
two  and  two,  with  red  and  white  fringe  around  the 
wrist — don't  I  remember  the  pattern.  Come,  old  chap, 
it  aint  far  from  here  to  Catharine  street,  we'll  soon  have 
a  full  rig." 

Of  course  Jube  made  no  objection ;  indeed,  such  was 
his  devotion  to  Rice,  that  it  is  doubtful  if  he  would  have 
resisted  any  behest  of  his.  They  went  out,  looking 
weather-beaten  and  shabby  enough,  shivering  with  cold, 
and  sallow  from  the  privation  of  a  hard  sea  voyage. 
But  after  a  visit  first  to  a  barber's  shop,  and  next  to  a 
clothing  store,  the  whole  aspect  of  things  was  changed. 
Little  Paul  came  forth  in  a  fur  cap  and  an  overcoat,  so 
heavy  and  thick  that  even  his  movements,  usually  grace- 
ful as  an  antelope's,  became  a  little  awkward.  Jube 
was  also  warmly  clad,  and  muffled  in  a  comforter,  striped 
with  red,  green,  and  yellow,  which  had  won  his  extremest 
admiration. 

After  providing  for  the  comfort  of  his  friends  in  this 


206  THE     SAILOR. 

way,  Rice  took  them  to  one  of  the  East  river  wharves, 
where  a  sloop,  bound  for  the  mouth  of  the  Housatonic, 
lay  waiting  for  passengers,  and  placed  them  in  charge 
of  the  captain.  Both  Paul  and  Jube  had  learned  a  little 
broken  English  by  this  time,  upon  which  Rice  depended 
greatly.  Besides,  he  sent  a  letter  to  his  mother,  beseech- 
ing her  to  receive  his  friends  and  preservers,  as  he 
named  them,  in  her  own  house,  and  treat  them  as  if 
Jube  were  his  brother,  and  the  boy  his  son — an  adopted 
son,  in  every  sense  of  the  word,  he  certainly  was.  In 
a  few  crude  lines  he  gave  his  mother  to  understand  how 
helpless  the  child  was,  and  how  manfully  the  African 
had  stood  by  him  when  deserted  on  the  disabled  brig, 
and  ended  by  promising  to  come  home  before  the  vessel 
sailed  again. 

With  this  letter  Rice  gave  Jube  some  gold  pieces, 
which  made  the  negro's  eyes  sparkle,  for  he  recognized 
them  as  the  coin  circulated  in  his  own  country.  Thus 
having  provided  for  his  friends,  Rice  took  his  way  back 
to  the  disabled  ship,  and  the  sloop  spread  its  white 
wings  up  the  sound. 

The  deep  snow,  the  skeleton  trees,  and  scattering 
evergreens  that  lined  the  banks  of  the  Housatonic, 
struck  our  poor  fugitives  from  the  tropics  with  a  sense 
of  absolute  desolation.  But  the  captain  was  kind,  and 
this  stood  in  place  of  sunshine  and  warmth  with  them. 
At  the  head  of  navigation,  which  brought  the  sloop  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Naugatuc,  the  captain  sent  them  for- 
ward with  a  return  team,  which,  having  deposited  its 
load  of  produce,  was  ready  to  proceed  up  the  river 
road,  which  led  from  Darby  to  the  long  wooden  bridge 
below  the  falls. 


OUT     OF     HER     DELIRIUM.  207 

CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

OUT    OP    HER   DELIRIUM. 

ALAS!  it  was  an  unhappy  house.  Poor  Katharine  I 
when  the  dead  child  was  brought  to  her,  wrapped  in  the 
gorgeous  shawl  which  had  been  her  brother's  gift,  she 
uttered  a  low  wail,  so  prolonged  and  mournful  that  it 
never  left  the  memory  of  those  who  heard  it.  As  the 
moan  died  on  her  lips,  it  seemed  to  carry  her  life  with 
it,  for  she  fell  into  a  state  of  dumb  apathy,  and  lay  for 
hours  together  gazing  on  the  wall  without  a  sign  of 
animation.  Then  she  would  mutter,  in  a  low,  terrified 
voice,  "  They  have  found  it,  they  have  found  it." 

The  magistrates  came  to  the  house  and  examined  the 
evidences  of  the  case,  but  she  took  no  heed  of  them. 
The  doctor  was  summoned,  but  his  opinion,  as  far  as 
it  went,  was  all  against  the  probabilities  of  a  natural 
death.  He  made  every  exertion  in  his  power  to  win  the 
poor  mother  to  a  state  of  consciousness,  but  all  in  vain  ; 
she  only  looked  in  his  face  and  muttered,  "  They  have 
found  it,  they  have  found  it." 

Mrs.  Allen  was  called  forward.  She  had  grown  old 
since  the  day  before.  The  hair  on  her  temples  was 
white  as  frost  now,  and  her  figure  stooped,  as  if  some 
ponderous  weight  had  been  laid  upon  it.  Yet  the  old 
woman  was  calm  and  still.  Had  the  truth  struck  her 
dead  at  the  magistrates'  feet,  she  would,  nevertheless, 
have  spoken  it.  Her  old  neighbors  knew  this,  and  re- 
frained from  pressing  her  too  far.  It  would  be  hard 
enough,  thev  whispered  in  consultation,  when  she  was 


208  OUT     OF     HER     DELIRIUM. 

brought  into  court ;  why  should  they  torture  her  when 
the  evidence  was  so  conclusive. 

So  the  magistrates  sat  all  day  with  the  dead  infant 
lying  in  its  little  coffin  on  the  table  before  them,  delib- 
erating solemnly  together ;  while  that  poor  mother  in 
the  next  room,  harassed  and  demented,  lay  with  her 
face  turned  to  the  wall,  muttering  beneath  her  breath, 
"  They  have  found  it,  they  have  found  it." 

Mrs.  Allen  sat  on  the  hearth  in  her  own  high-backed 
chair,  gazing  with  heavy  eyes  on  the  magistrates.  She 
was  chilled  and  shocked  to  the  soul.  The  stiff  pride 
of  her  nature  was  broken  in  twain,  leaving  her  body 
bent,  and  her  soul  inert.  Still,  such  is  the  indomitable 
power  of  household  routine,  in  a  woman  of  New  Eng- 
land, that  she  replenished  the  fire  from  time  to  time, 
and  prepared  drink  for  the  poor  creature  in  the  next 
room.  But  no  food  appeared  in  that  dwelling  during 
forty  -eight  hours.  The  cow  moaned  in  its  stable  from 
the  pain  of  its  abundant  milk,  and  the  pigs,  in  a  pen 
back  of  the  house,  thrust  their  noses  between  the  boards 
and  begged  for  food,  with  uncouth  noises  that  pene- 
trated into  the  house  without  arousing  the  mistress.  A 
flock  of  hens  huddled  about  the  door,  pecking  at  each 
other  and  raking  up  the  snow  with  their  claws. 

All  this  made  no  impression  on  the  woman.  When 
the  ashes  grew  deep  in  the  fireplace  she  mechanically 
shovelled  them  behind  the  back  log  and  sat  down  again, 
unconscious  of  the  act ;  when  a  stick  of  wood  broke  into 
brands  on  each  side  the  andirons,  she  lifted  the  massive 
tongs  and  placed  them  in  the  midst  of  the  fire  again, 
but  with  this  action  her  soul  had  no  part ;  that  seemed 
dead  within  her. 

At   last  the   magistrates   brought  in   their  verdict. 


•  OUT     OF     HER     DELIRIUM.  209 

TJie  infant  had  been  murdered  by  its  mother,  and  she 
Was  bound  over  for  trial  at  the  county  court. 

Mrs.  Allen  drew  a  deep  breath  when  the  verdict  was 
announced,  and  that  was  all  the  sign  she  gave.  The 
magistrates  retired,  leaving  the  house  in  charge  of  the 
constable.  From  that  hour  Katharine  Allen  was  a 
prisoner  and  under  arrest.  Poor  soul,  she  knew  nothing 
about  it.  The  officers  walked  in  and  out  of  her  room, 
but  she  neither  spoke  nor  looked  at  them.  They 
stooped  over  the  bed  and  questioned  her  persistently, 
but  she  took  no  heed  ;  a  regiment  might  have  tramped 
through  that  little  room  and  she  would  not  have  known  it. 

All  that  night  Mrs.  Allen  sat  by  the  little  coffin  in 
which  the  babe  lay  smiling  in  its  eternal  sleep.  Nothing 
but  the  form  of  a  guard  was  wanted  for  those  two  help- 
less women,  so  the  man  left  in  charge  fell  asleep  upon 
the  hearth,  with  his  head  bowed  forward  and  his  feet 
extended.  Thus  the  night  wore  on.  The  grandmother 
never  closed  her  eyes,  and  scarcely  moved,  but  a  dead 
numbness  was  closing  around  her  heart ;  she  began  to 
feel  the  terrible  position  in  which  her  child  was  placed 
— to  feel  that  the  beautiful  babe  which  had  crept  into 
her  heart,  awaking  all  its  pristine  tenderness,  was 
nothing  but  cold  death. 

As  these  thoughts  crowded  to  her  mind,  a  world  of 
anguish  gathered  over  that  old  face,  'till  every  feature 
quivered  with  awakening  pain. 

As  if  the  anguish  of  this  strong  woman  had  struck 
some  electric  spark  in  the  bosom  of  her  child,  a  faint 
moan  was  heard  in  the  next  room.  But  that  gray  head 
had  fallen  forward,  and  the  face  was  buried  in  her  locked 
hands.  The  old  woman  was  trying  to  pray.  But  she 

could  not  even  send  up  a  moan  to  the  Almighty.     For 
13 


210  OUT     OF     HER     DELIRIUM. 

that  moment  she  had  no  faith.  The  anguish  of  a  great 
trouble  was  upon  her  which  shook  her  whole  being ;  but 
the  tenderness  that  leads  to  prayer  had  not  yet  de- 
scended upon  her  grief. 

Under  these  awakening  feelings,  she  began  to  be  sen- 
sible of  all  the  gloomy  surroundings  that  had  helped  to 
oppress  her.  The  tallow  candle  upon  the  table  was  sur- 
mounted by  a  long  wick  with  a  death  blossom  trembling 
at  the  top,  which  smothered  half  its  feeble  light.  Thus 
the  little  coffin  was  filled  with  shadows,  through  which 
the  white  face  gleamed  mournfully. 

Mrs.  Allen  was  all  alone.  The  officer  sat  sleeping 
soundly  in  his  chair — the  young  mother  lay  insensible 
in  the  next  room.  The  old  woman  was,  nevertheless, 
alone,  for  such  companionship  was  an  added  misery. 
She  could  not  endure  to  sit  still  with  that  mournful 
little  face  reproaching  her  from  its  coffin  for  its  mother's 
sin ;  for,  as  yet,  its  death  took  that  shape  in  her  mind. 
She  had  no  courage  to  get  up  and  search  for  the  snuffers, 
wherewith  that  ill-omened  crest  could  be  separated  from 
the  ungainly  wick.  An  empty  cradle  stood  in  one  cor- 
ner of  the  room.  She  took  the  coffin  in  her  arms,  and 
sat  it  reverently  into  this  cradle,  spreading  the  patch- 
work coverlet  over  it,  thus  removing  the  pale  reality  of 
death  from  her  sight.  This  done,  she  sat  down  by  the 
table,  and  let  the  candle  smoke  on,  indifferent  to  what 
it  revealed,  so  long  as  the  thing  was  not  death. 

It  is  possible  that  she  may  have  dropped  to  sleep  after 
this,  for  nature  was  sinking  within  her ;  certain  it  is,  her 
face  fell  upon  the  locked  hands,  while  profound  quiet 
reigned  for  a  little  time  throughout  that  miserable 
dwelling. 

While  her  face  was  bowed  thus,  a  frail  figure,  clad  in 


OUT     OF     HER     DELIRIUM.  211 

white  drapery  from  head  to  foot,  came  out  of  the  bed- 
room and  glided  up  to  the  table.  She  wavered  in  her 
walk,  and  leaned  both  hands  on  the  table,  or  she  must 
have  undoubtedly  fallen,  in  feeble  helplessness,  to  the 
ground. 

Mrs.  Allen  looked  up  and  saw  her  daughter,  worn  and 
trembling,  gazing  wistfully  upon  her. 

"  Mother,  what  have  you  done  with  it  ?  Who  has 
taken  my  baby  away  ?" 

The  voice  was  sweet,  but  troubled ;  the  face  innocent 
as  an  angel's. 

"  Katharine,  oh,  Katharine  1" 

It  was  all  the  poor  woman  could  say ;  but  the  first 
gleam  of  hope  shot  athwart  that  gloomy  face  and  thrilled 
through  the  voice.  From  that  moment  the  mother  felt 
that  her  child  was  innocent. 

"  Oh,  Katharine,  my  child  !  my  poor,  poor  child  1" 

She  held  out  her  arms,  while  great  tears  rained  down 
her  cheeks. 

Katharine  tottered  around  the  table,  and  falling  on 
her  knees,  leaned  heavily  on  the  mother's  lap,  lifting  her 
face  full  of  wistful  tenderness  to  the  troubled  counten- 
ance bent  over  her. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  did  with  it,  mother." 

Mrs.  Allen  trembled  under  the  wistful  earnestness  of 
those  pleading  eyes.  She  had  no  power  of  speech  in 
her  voice.  It  was  choked  up  with  sorrow  for  her  daugh- 
ter's inevitable  anguish,  with  thanksgiving  that  she  was 
innocent.  With  a  tenderness  which  is  the  gift  of  true 
Christianity,  link  it  with  the  sternest  nature  you  may, 
she  reached  forth  her  arms  and  gathered  the  young  thing 
to  her  bosom. 

"  Do  tell  me,  mother,  what  you  have  done  with  my 
baby  ?" 


212  OUT     OF     HER     DELIRIUM. 

"Rest  a  little,  my  child.  That's  right — keep  your 
arms  around  me.  How  weak  you  are ;  and  it  is  cold. 
Shall  I  carry  you  back  to  bed,  my  poor  darling  ?" 

"  When  you  have  told  me.  I  want  the  baby,  mother ; 
my  heart  aches  for  it ;  my  bosom  is  full  of  pain.  If  we 
only  had  it  here  between  us,  mother.  Do,  do  tell  me 
where  it  is  ?" 

Mrs.  Allen  bent  her  face  and  kissed  her. 

"  Isn't  it  pleasant  to  kiss  one's  own  child,  mother  ?  I 
never  thought  what  a  comfort  it  was  to  you  before." 

Mrs.  Allen  could  not  answer ;  she  only  bent  her  with- 
ered cheek  to  the  sweet  face  on  her  bosom,  and  sighed 
heavily. 

"  Come,  mother." 

"One  minute,  Katharine." 

"  What  is  that,  mother  ?" 

Katharine  had  heard  the  deep  breathing  of  her  guard, 
and  turned  her  startled  face  toward  him. 

"It  is  a  neighbor  come  to  stay  with  us." 

"  What !  in  the  night,  mother !  Why  don't  he  go  to 
bed,  then  ?" 

"No  one  has  slept  in  this  house  for  two  nights,"  an- 
swered the  mother,  sorrowfully. 

Katharine  started,  and  began  to  tremble. 

"  Why  did  you  sit  up  ?    Was  my  baby  sick  ?" 

Mrs.  Allen  folded  her  child  closer,  but  said  nothing. 

"You  won't  tell  me,  mother." 

"I— I  cannot." 

Katharine  broke  from  her  mother's  arms,  and  stood 
up,  white  as-  death. 

"  Is  my  baby  dead,  mother  ?" 

"Yes." 

Before  it  left  the  woman's  lips,  Katharine  had  ad- 


OUT     OF     HER     DELIRIUM.  213 

vanced  to  the  cradle,  and  drawn  away  the  coverlet. 
She  saw  what  is  concealed — the  little  coffin  and  her  child' 
lying  coldly  within  it.  Without  a  word  or  even  a  quick 
breath,  she  sank  down  like  an  image  of  snow  which 
the  sun  has  touched. 

Another  morning,  and  the  stillness  of  death  fell  upon 
that  house.  While  the  young  mother  lay  bereft  of  all 
strength,  and  scarcely  alive,  but  with  a  guard  of  strong 
men  at  her  door,  the  infant  was  carried  out  and  rev- 
erently buried.  No  mourners  followed  it.  The  old 
woman  watched  by  the  living  mother,  not  with  the 
leaden  despair  of  former  days,  but  with  calm  resigna- 
tion, which  deepened  into  pathetic  tenderness,  whenever 
she  approached  the  sufferer. 

Katharine  had  whispered  a  request  to  see  her  babe 
before  it  was  carried  forth.  It  was  brought  to  her  bed- 
side, for  those  who  condemned  her  as  guilty  had  some 
compassion  on  her  youth.  It  was  like  a  shadow  passing 
near  her,  a  pale,  wan  shadow,  which  would  forever  float 
before  her  vision,  but  was  devoid  of  positive  reality 
then.  She  had  no  idea  of  the  way  of  its  death,  and  suf- 
fered like  any  other  bereaved  parent,  who  sees  the  first 
child  of  love  carried  away  after  it  has  been  folded 
close  to  the  yearning  heart  that  gave  it  life. 

So  the  funeral  went  forth,  the  saddest  of  many  years, 
and  wound  its  solemn  way  through  the  snow-trodden 
streets  down  to  the  graveyard,  which  gave  its  white 
stones  to  the  sunlight  on  Falls  Hill.  The  shadow  of 
the  church  steeple  lay  softly  upon  the  snow  as  the 
funeral  passed  in,  and  when  the  tiny  grave  was  closed, 
and  all  was  white  and  pure  as  the  clouds  of  heaven 
above,  the  broad  Naugatuc  sweeping  toward  its  falls 
below  the  hill,  seemed  chiming  a  solemn  requiem.  Then 


214      STRANGERS     IN     THE     VILLAGE. 

the  crowd  dispersed  in  groups,  whispering  with  awe 
over  the  terrible  crime  which  no  one  seemed  to  doubt, 
and  all  regretted.  A  few  thoughtless  girls  there  might 
have  been,  who  spoke  recklessly  of  the  sin  and  disgrace 
which  had  fallen  upon  their  lovely  schoolmate,  but  a 
feeling  of  compassion  predominated,  and  even  those 
who  came  to  that  little  grave  condemning  the  mother, 
went  away  subdued  and  doubting.  Gossip  there  cer- 
tainly was — what  country  village  ever  existed  without 
that? — but  Katharine's  fault  was  far  too  serious  for 
light  comment.  Even  strong  men  held  their  breadth 
when  the  penalty  of  death  was  mentioned  in  connection 
with  that  helpless  girl. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

STRANGERS   IN    THE   VILLAGE. 

I  HAVE  forgotten  one  circumstance  which  happened 
that  morning.  Just  as  the  funeral  was  turning  from 
the  highway  toward  the  gravejrard,  a  colored  man  and  a 
young  boy,  both  of  foreign  appearence,  came  up  the  hill 
from  the  bridge,  where  one  of  the  river  sleighs  had  set 
them  down.  After  standing  for  a  moment  watching  the 
procession  with  curiosity,  they  walked  reverently  after 
it,  looking  very  sad,  as  if  trouble  were  familiar  to  them. 
The  negro  led  the  boy  by  the  hand,  and  both  stood 
apart  from  the  crowd  while  the  funeral  sendee  was  read. 
It  was  remarked  that  the  negro  seemed  greatly  dis- 
turbed as  he  looked  upon  the  grave,  and  that  his  eyes 


STRANGER'S     IN     THE    VILLAGE.      215 

filled  with  tears  when  he  turned  them  on  the  serious 
face  of  the  boy.  Poor  fellow !  he  was  thinking  of 
another  funeral,  where  orange  blossoms  perfumed  the 
air,  and  hosts  of  wild  flowers  brightened  the  turf  which 
was  laid  above  the  dead. 

When  the  ceremony  was  over,  and  the  people  began 
to  disperse,  Jube  approached  a  little  group  of*  men  who 
lingered  "by  the  gate,  and  inquired,  in  very  imperfect 
English,  if  some  one  would  show  him  the  way  to  a  place 
called  Bungy,  and  if  a  widow  lady  by  the  name  of 
Allen  did  not  live  there. 

This  was  a  new  source  of  excitement.  The  foreign  look 
and  broken  language  peculiar  to  the  strangers,  were  some- 
thing to  be  wondered  at  and  talked  over,  even  at  this 
solemn  hour.  The  men  drew  away  from  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  bury  ing-ground  before  they  indulged  in  the 
curiosity  which  was  consuming  them,  and  for  once 
answered  a  question  directly,  without  asking  another  in 
the  same  breath,  an  instance  of  forbearance  deserving 
of  honorable  record  in  these  pages.  But  the  moment 
they  reached  the  road  the  awe  of  the  place  left  them, 
and  the  direct  examination  of  poor  Jube  commenced. 

Mrs.  Allen — of  course  everybody  knew  the  widow 
Allen,  and  no  wonder,  after  that  funeral ;  but  what  did 
the  stranger  want  of  her — wanted  to  hire  out,  perhaps. 
Jube  did  not  know  what  hiring  out  meant,  and  answered 
vaguely  that  perhaps  he  did,  but  wasn't  quite  certain. 

This  rather  excited  curiosity.  What  if  this  black 
fellow  should  prove  to  know  something  about  the  murder, 
or,  at  any  rate,  of  the  person  who  had  led  poor  Katha- 
rine Allen  into  all  this  trouble.  This  idea  whetted  the 
questions  that  were  let  loose  on  the  travellers,  till  both 
the  negro  and  boy  were  thoroughly  bewildered. 


216     STRANGERS     IN     THE    VILLAGE. 

"  Mebbe  you're  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Allen — knew  her 
afore  she  moved  here,  I  dare  say  1"  suggested  a  farmer 
from  over  the  hill. 

Jube  shook  his  head,  more  to  express  his  incapacity 
to  understand  than  as  a  negative  to  the  question. 

"  No  ;  that's  sort  o'  strange ;  but  then,  perhaps,  you're 
related  to  some  of  the  colored  people  hereabouts  ?" 

"  No,  agin ;  stranger  and  stranger  yet — not  know  Mrs. 
"Allen,  nor  any  of  the  colored  population  of  this  neigh- 
borhood. Then  jist  excuse  me  if  I  ask  who  on  arth  you 
are  acquainted  with  ?" 

"  We  know  Mr.  Rice,  the  widow  lady's  son,"  answered 
Paul,  in  his  sweet,  broken  language,  and  lifting  a  face 
to  the  stranger  that  softened  every  feature  of  his  rough 
visage. 

"  You  know  David  Rice,  my  little  shaver  !  "Wall,  we 
reckon  not,  for  he  was  drowned  three  months  or  more 
ago.  "Wrecked  at  sea.  Captain  Thrasher  e'nmost  saw 
him  go  down." 

"  It  was  on  that  ship  we  with  him !  Jube  he  help 
him  bring  her  into  port  1"  cried  the  boy,  his  great, 
velvety  eyes  filling  with  light  as  he  lifted  them  exult- 
ingly  to  the  negro. 

The  story  of  two  persons — a  negro  and  a  boy — having 
insisted  on  sharing  the  fate  of  David  Rice,  on  the  disa- 
bled vessel,  had  gone  the  rounds  of  the  village,  and  a 
general  burst  of  surprise  followed  the  boy's  speech. 

"  Now,  you  don't  say  so  I  You  the  little  shaver  that 
sot  right  down  by  Dave  Rice  on  that  deck,  and  woiildn't 
get  up  on  no  consideration !"  cried  one.  "  Wall,  now, 
how  things  du  turn  out.  I  couldn't  a  believed  it,  and 
sich  a  slender  little  critter,  too ;  I  swan  to  man,  it  beats 
all  1" 


STRANGERS     IN     THE    VILLAGE.       217 

Paul  understood  that  the  man  was  praising  him  for 
something,  and  in  his  modest  innocence  strove  to  set 
him  right. 

"  No,  no,  no ;  not  me  ;  I  am  very  little  boy,  very  weak, 
and  so  small.  I  only  eat  great  deal,  and  drink  water, 
when  Jube  wanted  it  very  much  to  keep  him  strong.  It 
was  Jube,  my  Jube,  that  helped  save  the  ship.  I  wish 
you  could  see  how  him  swing  the  pump  handle — all  the 
time,  daylight  and  dark,  no  matter,  Jube  work,  work, 
work,  I  no  I" 

The  farmer  who  had  been  the  most  ardent  spokesman, 
stepped  forth  now,  reaching  out  his  hands. 

"  I  say,  cuffy,  give  us  yer  hand.  If  you're  the  feller 
that  stood  by  Rice  when  he  hadn't  a  chance  left,  I'm 
proud  to  know  ye.  If  you  raly  did  bring  him  safe 
ashore — well,  by  golly,  if  I  aint  e'enamost  a  crying  1 
Now,  you  don't  say  that  Dave  Rice  is  alive  ?" 

"  Left  him  much  well  in  New  York  two  days  ago ;  me 
and  Jube,"  answered  the  boy,  smiling  at  the  farmer's 
enthusiasm. 

"  Yes,  little  masser." 

"Master!  Now,  you  don't  mean  tu  say  that  this 
little  black-eyed  shaver  is  your  master,  in  earnest, 
cuffy  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Jube,  showing  every  white  tooth  in  his 
head.  "  Reckon  little  masser  won't  say  no  1" 

"And  you're  his  slave — a  rale,  downright  sarvant,  ha  ?" 

"  Yes ;  that's  it  1"  answered  Jube,  with  another  happy 
laugh.  "  Little  masser  hasn't  none  but  me  now." 

"  You  don't  say  so !" 

"  But  we  both  owned  to  Captain  Rice,  now.  Jube, 
you  not  forgot  that,"  said  Paul,  earnestly. 

"  What's  that  you're  a  saying !     Dave  Rice  a  bringing 


218       STRANGERS     IN     THE     VILLAGE. 

home  slaves  into  old  Connecticut,  and  one  uv  'ein  e'ena- 
most  white !  I  say,  neighbors,  what  will  the  selectmen 
say  to  that  ?" 

Instantly  there  was  a  season  of  whispered  and  eager 
consultation.  With  all  their  joy  over  the  deliverance 
of  Rice  from  a  watery  grave,  the  neighbors  were  not 
prepared  to  accept  the  slaves  he  seemed  to  be  sending 
home  from  foreign  parts. 

"  What  do  you  think,"  said  the  chief  speaker,  "  they'll 
perhaps  become  an  expense  to  the  town,  and  have  to  be 
bid  off  for  their  board  with  the  other  paupers — suppos- 
ing we  send  them  back." 

"  Wait  till  we've  examined  'em  according  to  law,"  in- 
terposed another,  who  was  a  selectman  of  the  town- 
ship. "  Perhaps  I'd  better  do  it.  Now  jest  stand  by 
and  listen  " 

"  What  do  you  do  for  a  living,  if  I  may  ask,"  he  com- 
menced, planting  himself  in  the  road  in  front  of  Jube, 
"  before  we  admit  strangers,  especially  colored,  it's  as 
well  to  be  sure  that  they  wont  be  a  town  charge — what 
do  you  foller?" 

Jube  shook  his  head — the  whole  speech  was  a  mys- 
tery to  him. 

"  What  do  you  foller  ?"  persisted  the  selectman,  get- 
ting impatient. 

"  What  do  I  folly !"  repeated  Jube,  with  a  puzzled 
look,  then  brightening  up  all  at  once,  he  added  with  a 
smile : 

"  Me  folly  little  masser." 

"  But  how  do  you  get  your  living  ?" 

"He's  my  father  now,  and  me  support  him,"  said 
Paul,  with  dignity,  for  he  began  to  comprehend  a  little 
of  the  conversation. 


STRANGERS     IN     THE     VILLAGE.       219 

"  And  who  supports  you,  my  little  shaver  ?" 

"  Me  have  money,"  answered  Paul ;  "  Jube,  show 
monsieur  much  money  there  in  the  purse." 

Jube  took  a  heavy  shot  bag  from  his  pocket,  and 
opening  it  exhibited  more  gold  than  the  selectman  had 
ever  seen  in  his  life.  The  whole  group  of  countrymen 
gathered  around  him,  full  of  eager  curiosity. 

"  I  should  think  that  satisfactory,"  said  one  of  the 
speakers,  addressing  the  selectman. 

"  No  doubt  on  that  point,"  was  the  answer ;  "  but 
where  on  arth  du  they  come  from,  I  should  raly  like  to 
know."  + 

"  Will  you  please  tell  us  some  way,"  said  Paul, 
modestly.  "  It  is  much  cold  here,  and  Jube  likes  a  fire 
too  much." 

"You  want  to  know  the  road  to  Mrs.  Allen's  ?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  that  is  the  name  1" 

"  Well,  she  lives  over  the  hill." 

"  Which  way  we  go,  monsieur  ?" 

"  No,  it  isn't  monsur,  but  Bungy  that  you're  after." 

"  And  that  way,  if  you  please?" 

"  Turn  round  that  great  wilier  tree  on  the  corner, 
keep  to  the  left  of  the  white  house  back  of  it,  and  then 
go  straight  along.  It's  a  brown  house  with  a  narrow 
door  yard,  and  a  shag  bark  walnut  tree  standing  at  one 
end — you  can't  miss  it,  no  how." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  boy,  lifting  his  cap  with  the 
grace  of  a  little  prince,  "monsieur  are  much  kind." 

Jube  also  lifted  his  cap,  and  stood  close  by  his 
master,  a  good  deal  puzzled  and  disturbed  by  the  con- 
versation that  had  been  forced  upon  them. 

The  men  who  \vere  left  behind  drew  together  in  a 
group 


220      STRANGERS     IN     THE     VILLAGE. 

"  It's  a  bad  time  for  strangers  to  be  asking  the  way 
to  that  house,"  said  the  selectman,  looking  after  the 
travellers,  "but  one  couldn't  make  them  understand. 
With  officers  in  charge,  and  that  miserable  girl  lying 
at  the  point  of  death,  as  I  may  say,  it  will  come  hard 
on  Mrs.  Allen.  I  almost  wish  some  of  us  had  taken 
them  home." 

"Let  them  go,"  said  the  man  addressed.  "They 
bring  good  news  from  the  son  that  was  lost — poor 
woman,  she  will  find  that  God  does  not  altogether  for- 
sake her,  though  it  is  an  awful  trial  she  is  going 
through."  » 

With  a  parting  salutation,  so  respectful  from  Jube, 
and  so  elegant  from  the  boy,  that  the  men  stood  quite 
confounded,  the  old  negro  and  his  charge  passed  on  up 
the  hill. 

"  It's  the  first  brown  house,"  one  of  the  little  group 
called  out,  as  soon  as  he  recovered  his  power  of  speech, 
which,  like  those  of  any  true  New  Englander,  were  not 
to  be  checked  long  by  any  condition  whatever ;  "  the 
first  brown  house,  and  ask  for  widder  Allen." 

The  two  strangers  looked  back,  comprehending  the 
gesture  which  accompanied  these  words,  and,  with 
another  courteous  salute,  disappeared  along  a  bend  in 
the  road. 

"  We've  almost  reached  our  journey's  end,  Jube,"  the 
boy  said,  in  their  native  tongue,  after  they  had  walked 
some  distance. 

"  Yes,  little  master,"  said  Jube,  in  the  same  tongue, 
"that's  the  house  I  see  now  up  yonder." 

"  I  wonder  if  she  is  a  kind  woman  ?"  the  boy  con- 
tinued, his  thoughts  reverting  to  all  the  trouble  and 
cruelty  of  the  past  months. 


STRANGERS     IX     THE     VILLAGE.        221 

"  I  hope  so,  little  master ;  it's  a  woman's  nature,  most 
times ;  and  if  she  have  a  spark  of  goodness  in  her 
heart,  it  must  come  out  when  she  see  that  blessed  young 
face." 

"Dave's  mother  ought  to  be  kind  and  good,  I  am 
sure." 

"  Very  nice  man,  that  Master  Rice ;  Jube  will  never 
forget  him,  never  1" 

With  such  broken  conversation,  they  pursued  their 
way,  and  soon  reached  the  summit  of  the  hill.  Just 
before  them  was  the  old  farm  house  which  once  looked 
so  cheerful  and  pleasant,  but  now  a  (juiet  so  profound 
pervaded  the  whole  place  that  it  seemed  like  a  shadow 
deepening  under  the  trouble  which  oppressed  its  in- 
mates. 

With  his  refined  instincts  and  sympathies,  the  boy 
felt  a  peculiar  restlessness  creep  over  his  mind  as  he 
approached  the  dwelling. 

"  How  still  it  is,  Jube,"  he  said,  unconsciously  sinking 
his  voice  to  a  whisper,  as  they  lingered  for  an  instant 
by  the  gate ;  "it  seems  as  if  they  were  all  sick  or  dead." 

"Not  that,  little  master,"  replied  Jube,  occupied 
with  the  reflection  that  his  beloved  charge  had  at  last 
reached  a  place  of  tranquillity,  and  incapable  of  the 
vague  emotions  which  agitated  the  sensitive  nerves  of 
the  child. 

He  opened  the  gate,  and  held  it  ajar  for  the  boy  to 
pass  through.  Never  once,  in  all  their  sorrow  and  con- 
fusion, had  he  forgotten  the  respect  which  was  due  to 
his  old  master's  son. 

"  Go  in,  Master  Paul ;  don't  be  afeard,  Jube  is  with 
you  yet." 

"  I  am  not  afraid ;  I  only  feel  sorry  for  these  strange 
people ;  but  why,  I  cannot  tell." 


222        S  Til  ANGERS     IN     THE     VILLAGE. 

Jube  made  no  answer  to  the  fancies  which  he  could 
not  comprehend  ;  and,  after  that  momentary  hesitation, 
the  boy  passed  up  the  little  garden  path  to  the  house, 
and  waited,  while  the  negro  gave  a  quick,  eager  rap 
upon  the  door. 

Mrs.  Allen  was  occupied  in  the  bedroom,  and  did  not 
hear  the  summons,  but  it  aroused  the  officer  who  sat 
over  the  kitchen  fire,  struggling  with  sleep  and  the 
dreary  reflections  to  which  the  place  and  his  duty  gave 
rise. 

"  Come  ml"  he  called,  in  a  low  voice ;  then,  fearful 
of  disturbing  the  sick  girl,  whom  he  had  already  begun 
to  pity,  in  spite  of  the  sin  and  guilt  which  he  believed 
to  be  upon  her,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  and  walked  to 
the  door,  starting  in  astonishment  when  he  opened  it, 
and  saw  the  two  strangers  standing  there. 

Paul  looked  at  Jube  for  assistance,  and  Jube  looked 
back  at  him  so  helpless  and  confused,  in  his  efforts  to 
recall  his  very  imperfect  English,  that  the  boy  was 
obliged  to  depend  upon  his  own  courage  and  knowledge 
of  the  harsh  tongue. 

"Madame  Allen  live  here?"  he  asked,  while  the  offi- 
cer, between  astonishment  at  his  grace  and  foreign 
accent,  only  stared  the  harder,  instead  of  answering. 

"  Moder  to  Masser  Rice,"  added  Jube,  coming  to  his 
young  master's  assistance,  and  after  successfully  pro- 
nouncing so  much  in  his  best  English,  he  rushed  into  a 
flood  of  French,  which  completed  the  man's  bewilder- 
ment. 

"  Land's  sake  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  What  on  arth  does 
the  critter  mean — never  heerd  such  a  lingo  in  all  my 
life !" 

"  Chut  /"  whispered  Paul  to  his  companion ;  "  he 
doesn't  understand  you." 


THE  WELCOME  LETTER.      223 

The  recollection  quite  took  Jube  by  surprise.  He 
ceased  at  once,  his  mouth  gaping  wide,  and  the  whites 
of  his  eyes  displayed  in  bewildering  astonishment. 

"We  wish  Madame  Allen,"  pursued  the  boy. 

"  De  moder  of  her  son,"  put  in  Jube,  coming  to  his 
senses,  and  determining  to  assist  his  master  by  every 
means  in  his  power. 

"The  widder  Allen  lives  here,"  replied  the  man,  "if 
you  want  her — the  Lord  knows  she  near  enough  crazy, 
anyhow,"  he  continued,  in  a  lower  tone.  "  But  walk  in, 
walk  in." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

THE    WELCOME   LETTER. 

guard  left  Paul  and  his  black  friend  standing  on 
the  door  step,  and  went  toward  the  bedroom,  calling,  in 
a  half-whisper, 

"  Here,  Mrs.  Allen,  somebody  wants  you." 

The  old  woman  heard  his  voice,  and  came  out  into  the 
kitchen,  closing  the  bedroom  door,  and  looking  with  as 
much  astonishment  at  the  strangers  as  her  numbed 
faculties  would  permit  her  to  feel. 

"  They  want  to  see  you,"  said  the  officer,  turning 
toward  her ;  "  I  can't  make  out  nothing  more — they  talk 
such  outlandish  lingo." 

Paul  motioned  Jube  to  follow,  and  entered  the  kitchen. 
He  walked  up  to  the  old  lady  and  removed  his  cap  with 
a  low  bow,  saying : 


224  THE     WELCOME     LETTER. 

"It  is  Madame  Allen — the  mother  of  Monsieur 
Rice  ?" 

"  I  was  his  mother,"  she  replied,  in  a  hollow  voice, 
"  but  he  is  dead.  What  do  you  want  of  me,  little  boy  ?" 

"  This  letter  for  you,"  Paul  continued,  taking  the 
carefully  preserved  epistle  from  his  pocket. 

The  old  woman  shrunk  away,  and  put  out  her  hand  as 
if  to  thrust  the  letter  aside. 

"More  trouble,"  she  muttered.  "What  can  come 
now?" 

Paul  understood,  rather  from  the  expression  of  her 
face  than  a  comprehension  of  her  words,  that  she  was 
startled. 

"  Yery  good  news,"  he  said.  "  The  lady  much  happy 
now." 

"  Happy !"  she  repeated.     "  Who  is  that  from  ?" 

"  From  him — from  madame's  own  son  I" 

She  only  looked  incredulous ;  she  was  so  stunned  by 
suffering  that  her  mind  could  not  readily  receive  any 
new  impression. 

" I  haven't  any  son,"  she  said ;  "my  son  is  dead." 

The  boy  glanced  anxiously  toward  Jube,  and  the  old 
negro  felt  bound  to  offer  his  assistance,  although  sadly 
at  a  loss  to  remember  a  single  English  word  by  which 
matters  might  be  explained. 

"  No  dead,  lady !"  he  exclaimed ;  "  bery  live,  Masser 
Rice  ;  yes,  certainement ;  very  much  so." 

The  old  woman  gave  him  a  wild  look,  snatched  the 
letter  from  Paul's  hand,  and  tore  it  open,  while  the  three 
stood  gazing  at  her  in  astonishment. 

"  His  writing,"  she  muttered.  "  Oh,  I  must  be  going 
crazy  1" 

She  read  the  page,  retreated  backward,  and  fell  into  a 


THE     WELCOME     LETTER.  225 

chair,  while  the  letter  fluttered  slowly  to  the  floor.  She 
understood  the  contents,  but  had  wept  so  much  during 
the  past  days,  that  no  tears  were  left ;  even  joy  could 
not  revivify  the  wasted  fount. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Mrs.  Allen  ?"  exclaimed  the 
officer,  frightened  by  her  appearance.  "  Don't  look  so ; 
don't  now;  it  skeers  a  fellow!" 

She  pointed  to  the  letter. 

*  Read  it  to  me,"  she  whispered ;  "read  it,  I  say ;  maybe 
I  shall  believe  it  then." 

The  man  picked  up  the  sheet,  and  spelled  out  the 
tidings  as  well  as  his  astonishment  and  Rice's  crabbed 
writing  would  permit. 

"  My  son  is  alive,"  muttered  the  woman.  "  God  has 
not  altogether  forsaken  me  !" 

"Alive !"  repeated  the  officer ;  "  gone  another  voyage, 
and  sent  these  two  here." 

Paul  had  crept  close  to  Jube,  and  slipped  his  slender 
fingers  into  the  broad  palm  of  his  trusty  companion, 
startled  by  the  scene. 

"  You  came  from  my  son  ?"  said  the  woman,  looking 
earnestly  at  them. 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  the  officer ;  "  seems  to  be  a  sort 
of  adoptation  on  Dave's  part ;  he's  dreadful  perticular 
to  have  the  boy  sent  to  the  district  school  to  once." 

Mrs.  Allen  struggled  with  herself,  managed  to  rise, 
and  walked  toward  the  chamber  door. 

"  Stay  here,"  she  said  ;  "  sit  down  and  wait  for  me." 

They  understood  her  words,  and  seated  themselves  as 
she  directed.     Her  heavy  tread  upon  the  stairs  echoed 
clown  into  the  room,  and  when  it  died  away  in  the  gar- 
ret, they  sat  waiting,  while  the  officer  stared  at  them  as 
14 


226  THE     WELCOME     LETTER. 

if  they  had  been  two  strange  birds,  placed  there  for  his 
observation. 

When  Mrs.  Allen  reached  the  cold,  silent  garret,  she 
sank  upon  her  knees  on  the  bare  boards  and  tried  to 
pray.  Broken  and  faint  were  the  murmurs  which  fell 
from  her  lips  ;  but  gradually,  through  that  silent  prayer, 
a  ray  of  hoi}*  happiness  stole  over  her  haggard  features 
— God  had  sent  one  gleam  of  light  into  the  terrible 
blackness  which  surrounded  her.  » 

She  rose,  at  length,  strengthened,  and  able  more 
clearly  to  reflect  upon  the  joy  that  had  come  so  unex- 
pectedly into  the  midst  of  her  anguish. 

Her  son  was  alive — it  was  better  that  he  should  not 
be  there — he  could  in  no  way  aid  Katharine.  As  for 
her  own  portion  of  the  agony,  only  God  could  help  her 
to  endure  that.  But  he  was  alive,  and  would  come  back 
in  time  to  comfort  her. 

Nearly  half  an  hour  must  have  elapsed  before  she 
descended  the  stairs  and  again  entered  the  kitchen. 
The  strangers  were  still  seated  by  the  fire,  and  the  offi- 
cer had  sufficiently  recovered  from  his  stupor  of  aston- 
ishment to  overpower  them  with  all  sorts  of  questions, 
very  few  of  which  they  understood ;  but  as  they  made 
up  for  this  lack  of  comprehension  by  a  courtesy  alto- 
gether new  and  puzzling  to  him,  he  had  to  make  the 
best  of  matters. 

"  They  come  from  'way  off,  goodness  knows  where," 
he  said,  turning  toward  Mrs.  Allen.  "  Dave's  the  queerest 
fellow  to  pick  up  odd  critters !" 

The  woman  paid  no  attention  to  his  words,  but  went 
up  to  Paul  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder ;  the  look 
of  childish  comprehension  and  sj-mpathy  which  he  lifted 
to  her  face  seemed  to  go  to  her  heart  as  no  expressions 


THE     WELCOME     LETTER.  227 

of  kindness  from  another  had  been  able  i,o  do.  A  faint 
dew  gathered  in  her  eyes,  but  no  absolute  tears. 

"Are  you  hungry  ?"  she  asked.  "  I  will  get  you  some- 
thing to  eat." 

"Madame  must  not  trouble  much,"  Paul  said,  re- 
spectfully. 

"  It's  the  natur'  o'  children  and  darkies  to  eat,"  re- 
marked the  officer,  sapiently ;  "  you'd  better  hunt  'em  up 
a  cold  bite.  I  feel  kinder  hungry  myself,  Mrs.  Allen." 

The  old  woman  went  about  her  duties  in  a  methodical 
way,  finding  a  kind  of  relief  in  the  occupation.  She 
placed  such  food  as  she  had  prepared  upon  the  table, 
and  motioned  Paul  to  sit  down.  Before  the  little  fellow 
touched  a  morsel  himself,  he  heaped  a  plate  with  great 
slices  of  gingerbread  and  mince  pie,  and  carried  them 
to  Jube. 

"  Do  look  at  that,"  muttered  the  officer ;  "  wal,  I  never 
seed  a  little  chap  have  so  much  manners  afore." 

"  You  are  much  kind,"  Paul  said  to  Mrs.  Allen ;  "  so 
was  good  Rice — le  grand  Dieu  will  bless  both." 

"  Granite  do,"  remarked  the  officer ;  "I  wonder  if 
that's  his  name  ?" 

"  The  letter  says,  Paul,"  returned  the  woman. 

"  Me ;  that  me,"  said  the  boy,  catching  his  name,  and 
looking  up  with  a  smile. 

The  woman  once  more  took  up  the  letter,  and  sat 
down  to  gain  a  clearer  knowledge  of  its  contents. 

"And  you're  sent  here  to  stay,"  she  said,  with  a  weary 
sigh,  as  she  folded  the  sheet.  "  Dear  me,  what  a  place 
for  anj-  one  to  come  to !" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  boy,  understanding  her  first  words ; 
"in  few  months — tree,  four,  Monsieur  Rice  come  too." 

"  His  name  is  Dave,"  said  the  officer ;  "  but,  la !  I  cal- 


THE     WELCOME     LETTER. 

culate  they  have  all  sorts  of  queer  names  for  folks  in 
them  out  of  the  way  countries." 

When  Paul  had  finished  his  meal  he  returned  to  his 
old  place  on  the  little  stool  by  Jube's  side,  and  the  pair 
eat  looking  wistfully  at  each  other,  oppressed  by  the 
strangeness  and  gloom  of  the  place. 

Mrs.  Allen  paid  little  attention  to  them.  She  washed 
the  dishes  with  her  usual  care,  and  put  them  away  in 
the  corner  cupboard,  brushed  the  hearth,  moved  rest- 
lessly about,  finding  that  relief  in  constant  occupation 
which  the  mind  is  sure  to  seek  during  a  great  sorrow. 

Paul  sat  watching  her  with  his  large,  wistful  eyes, 
for  she  had  strangely  excited  some  inexplicable  sym- 
pathy in  his  heart. 

After  a  time  a  feeble  voice  called  from  the  bedroom. 

"Mother;  where  are  you,  mother?" 

Katharine  had  awakened,  and  was  startled  to  find  her- 
self alone ;  but  at  the  summons  the  old  woman  went 
into  the  bedroom,  and  the  murmur  of  their  voices 
reached  the  kitchen  faintly. 

In  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Allen  came  out  with  a  cup  in 
her  hand.  She  went  to  the  fire,  took  a  tin  basin  from 
the  hearth,  and  poured  a  portion  of  the  contents  into 
the  cup,  but  her  hands  shook  so  tremulously  that  the 
hot  liquid  spilled  over  them. 

Paul  arose,  and  took  the  dish  from  her  with  his  usual 
gentleness. 

"  Let  me  carry  it,"  he  said.     "  Madame  very  tired." 

Poor  old  madame !  His  kindness  touched  her  like  a 
new  pang.  She  followed  him  to  the  bedroom  and  took 
the  cup  again. 

"  Sick  lady  there  ?"  he  whispered. 

Mrs.  Allen  bent  her  head,  she  could  not  speak  just 
then. 


THE     WELCOME     LETTER.  229 

"Paul  will  help,"  continued  the  boy.  "  Paul  nursed 
mamma  once — please  let  him  help  the  sweet  made- 
moiselle." 

The  boy  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  Katharine's  face, 
and  his  own  brightened. 

The  old  woman  felt  as  if  an  angel  had  unexpectedly 
been  sent  to  aid  her  in  her  misery — the  pitying 
light  in  those  beautiful  eyes  went  to  her  heart  like  a 
blessing. 

After  that,  every  time  she  went  in  or  out,  Paul 
watched  her  movements  and  assisted  her  in  his  unob- 
trusive way,  then«crept  back  to  Jube,  and  waited  to  see 
in  what  manner  he  could  next  express  his  desire  to  be 
of  use. 

"  He  goes  about  as  handy  as  a  pet  kitten,"  said  the 
officer  at  last,  sorely  perplexed  in  his  mind.  "  Got  a 
mother,  little  chap  ?" 

The  negro  understood  these  words,  and  put  up  his 
hands  with  a  warning  gesture. 

"  Hush !"  said  Mrs.  Allen,  sternly ;  "  you  know  what 
the  letter  said." 

"  I  forgot,"  returned  the  man,  and  he  began  uneasily 
biting  his  finger  nails,  to  hide  his  confusion;  but  the 
nails  proved  very  horny  and  tough,  and  he  failed  to  get 
rid  of  much  contrition  in  that  way. 

Paul  made  no  answer  to  his  question ;  he  only  re- 
treated a  little  closer  to  Jube,  and  laid  his  head  upon 
the  negro's  knee.  The  simple  action  wrung  Mrs. 
Allen's  heart  with  a  new  pang.  Hard  and  severe  as  her 
nature  was,  it  had  become  so  softened  under  her  grief 
that  she  was  unusually  observant,  and  touched  by  trifles 
which  at  another  time  would  have  passed  by  unheeded. 

"  I  expect  you're  tired,"  said  the  officer,  pointing  his 


230  THE     WELCOME     LETTER. 

finger,  with  its  dilapidated  nail,  at  the  boy ;  "  3rou're 
tired  now,  aint  you  ?" 

"  A  little,"  said  Paul,  without  raising  his  head.  "  Only 
very  little." 

Jube  knew  by  the  sorrowful  voice  that  the  child  was 
thinking  of  his  mother,  and  had  been  pained  by  the 
man's  thoughtless  question  in  regard  to  her.  He  at- 
tempted no  consolation  in  words,  but  laid  his  great  hand 
protectingly  upon  the  boy's  shoulder.  The  two  crept 
a  little  closer  to  each  other,  feeling  a  sort  of  safety  and 
comfort  in  that  silent  companionship. 

"I  expect  they  feel  kinder  cold,"  remarked  the 
officer. 

Mrs.  Allen  heard,  and  remembered  that  there  was  a 
fireplace  in  the  chamber  where  she  intended  them  to 
sleep.  She  went  out  into  the  wood  house  for  pine  knots 
to  kindle  a  fire,  but  Paul  had  followed  her  with  that 
solicitude  to  which  she  was  so  unaccustomed,  and  when 
he  saw  her  errand,  motioned  Jube  to  follow. 

"  Jube  very  strong,"  he  said ;  "  carry  me — carry  wood 
. — likes  to  do  it  too  much." 

The  old  woman  attempted  no  opposition  ;  she  allowed 
the  negro  to  take  up  an  armful  of  sticks,  and  led  the 
way  up-stairs  in  silence,  Paul  still  accompanying  them, 
from  an  unwillingness  to  remain  alone  with  the  strange 
man. 

Jube's  intentions  were  of  the  most  praiseworthy 
description,  but  it  must  be  confessed  that  his  success  in 
making  a  fire  was  not  equal  to  his  ambition.  When 
Mrs.  Allen  saw  that  he  only  succeeded  in  raising  a 
smoke  instead  of  kindling  a  flame,  she  took  the  matter 
into  her  own  hands,  and  speedily  the  knots  and  kind- 
lings were  hissing  and  snapping  on  the  unused  hearth 
at  a  famous  rate. 


THE     WELCOME     LETTER.  231 

"  Jube  learn,"  Paul  said,  smiling  at  both,  and  trying 
to  comfort  the  negro's  evident  discomfiture,  "  learn  very 
quick.  Tout  suit  J" 

"Yes,  little  masser,"  he  replied;  "  Jube  know  how 
next  time." 

Mrs.  Allen  signified  to  them  that  they  were  to  sleep 
in  that  room ;  there  was  a  trundle  bed  for  Paul,  which 
Katharine  had  occupied  when  a  child,  and  she  impro- 
vised a  very  comfortable  sort  of  couch  for  the  attend- 
ant. She  spread  a  bit  of  rag  carpet  before  Paul's  bed, 
and  made  every  thing  homelike  and  tidy  for  the  shiver- 
ing strangers. 

"  Come  down  and  warm,"  she  said,  when  her  prepara- 
tions were  completed,  noticing  that  they  shivered  with 
cold. 

Paul  and  Jube  followed  her  down-stairs  and  took  their 
former  seats  by  the  fire,  while  she,  after  stealing  into  the 
bedroom,  to  be  certain  that  Katharine  slept,  took  her 
station  by  the  hearth  likewise,  and  remained  gazing 
drearily  into  the  fire. 

At  last  she  seemed  to  remember  how  late  it  was,  and, 
getting  up,  took  a  brass  warming-pan,  with  its  long 
wooden  handle,  which  she  filled  with  hot  coals.  Thus 
armed,  she  went  up-stairs,  came  down  again  after  an 
absence  of  ten  minutes,  and  told  her  guests  to  go  up  to 
bed  before  the  sheets  got  cold. 

When  the  two  went  up-stairs,  Jube  found  his  humble 
bed  warmed  comfortably,  like  that  of  his  little  master. 


232  THE     RED     SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

CHAPTER '  XXXI. 

THE   BED   SCHOOL-HOUSE  AT   SHRUB   OAK 

f 

ONE  entire  week  that  poor  girl  lay  upon  the  verge  of 
death ;  but  so  still,  so  mournfully  feeble,  that  it  would 
have  pained  you  to  look  at  her.  The  sound  of  her  voice 
must  have  sent  you  from  her  presence  heart-broken. 
The  doctor  visited  her  every  day.  At  times  he  attempted 
to  arouse  her  with  some  of  his  droll  sayings,  but  the 
voice  in  which  they  were  uttered  was  so  pitiful  that  she 
understood  it  only  as  a  compassionate  attempt  to  com- 
fort her,  and  so,  in  truth,  it  was. 

One  day,  when  the  fever  had  left  her  brain,  and  she 
could  scarcely  speak  for  want  of  strength,  Katharine 
v  hispered  the  doctor  to  sit  down  a  little  while,  as  she 
Lad  something  to  ask  him  about. 

The  doctor  slid  his  crutches  along  the  floor,  and  seated 
himself  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  looking  very  grave,  for 
he  felt  what  the  poor  thing  was  about  to  say. 

"  Doctor." 

"Well,  my  child." 

"  What  is  that  man  always  staj'ing  in  the  kitchen  for?" 

"  That  man— oh !  he's  help." 

"Night  and  day,  night  and  day,  he's  always  there," 
murmured  the  unhappy  girl.  "  He  tries  to  keep  out  of 
sight ;  but  every  time  the  door  opens  I  see  his  shadow 
on  the  wall." 

"And  it  frightens  yon,  poor  child  ;  is  that  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  doctor,  it  troubles  me.  I  want  to  know  what 
it  means  ?" 


THE     RED     SCHOOL-HOUSE.  233 

"  He  lias  been  sent  here  to  keep  your  mother  com- 
pany." 

She  looked  at  him  with  reproachful  earnestness,  tried 
to  shake  her  head,  but  the  languid  eyelids  only  drooped 
over  the  blue  orbs  fastened  on  his  face,  and,  directly, 
tears  began  »to  swell  under  them. 

"  I  heard  people  talking  in  the  other  room,  doctor ; 
what  was  it  about  ?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you,  not  knowing  what  they  said." 

"  They  were  talking  about  my  baby." 

The  word  broke  out  in  a  sob,  and  tears  gushed  through 
her  trembling  eyelashes.  The  doctor  laid  his  hand  on 
her  head,  and  then  the  convulsion  of  her  grief  became 
heart-rending. 

"  Hush,  child,  hush !  don't  cry,  don't  cry — it  will  hurt 
you." 

"  Doctor,  what — what  did  my  baby  die  of?" 

The  doctor  turned  white  with  the  pain  and  surprise 
of  that  question. 

"  Won't  you  tell  me,  doctor  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  in  stern  distrust.  Her  face  was  in- 
nocent as  a  child's.  She  interrogated  his  countenance 
imploringly  through  her  tears. 

"  Don't  you  know,  Katharine  ?" 

She  began  to  cry  bitterly. 

"  How  could  I  ?  no  one  tells  me,  and  I  can't  remember 
any  thing." 

"  Katharine,  is  this  true  ?" 

"  Is  what  true,  doctor?" 

"  Have  you  no  knowledge  how  the  child  died  ?" 

"  No ;  I  was  in  bed  here,  shaking  with  cold  and  burn- 
ing up  with  fever.  I  wanted  the  baby,  and  got  up ;  it 
was  in  the  cradle,  dead.  Oh,  I  remember  so  well  how 


THE     RED     SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

white  its  little  face  was — how  white  and  cold.  I  came 
back  again,  crept  into  bed,  and  wished  that  God  would 
let  me  die,  too." 

"And  this  is  all  you  know  ?" 

"  Yes,  doctor ;  I  was  afraid  to  ask  mother  about  it — 
she  looks  so  strange  ;  but  you  will  tell  me  every  thing." 

The  doctor  gathered  up  his  crutches  hurriedly,  and 
stamped  his  way  into  the  next  room. 

"  Mrs.  Allen,"  he  said,  sharply,  "you  are  a  brave  wo- 
man. I'm  nothing  but  a  poor,  miserable  coward.  I'm 
going  to  sneak  off,  and  let  you  talk  to  that  poor  girl.  I 
could  cut  the  throat  of  a  lamb  when  it  was  looking  into 
my  eyes  as  soon  as  tell  her  what  must  come.  You're  a 
Christian,  Mrs.  Allen,  a  downright  Christian,  and  no 
sham — crusty  and  bitter,  sharp  and  honest.  You  can 
do  it ;  I  can't.  You're  a  Bible  woman ;  I'm  an  old  sin- 
ner, and  am  running  away — do  you  understand — because 
I'm  an  abominable  old  coward.  Tell  her  yourself." 

Mrs.  Allen  turned  white  as  parchment.  She  under- 
stood the  doctor's  meaning  in  full. 

"  Has  she  been  asking  questions,  doctor  ?" 

"  Yes ;  enough  to  break  a  commonly  good  heart — but 
mine  is  tough  as  sole  leather." 

"  She  is  better  ?" 

"  Yes ;  a  great  deal  better." 

"And  when  she  is  well  enough  to  be  moved,  they  will 
take  her  away  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so — the  hounds." 

The  woman  stood  motionless— her  hands  tightly 
clasped,  and  her  lips  stiffening  with  pain. 

"  You  are  right,"  she  said ;  "  who  but  her  mother  should 
take  up  this  burden.  I  will  tell  Katharine." 

"Not  'till  I  am  out  of  sight!"  cried  the  doctor,  wheel- 


THE     RED     SCHOOL-HOUSE.  235 

ing  sharply  on  his  crutches.  "  I  tell  you,  woman,  I 
can't  stand  it — feel  like  a  butcher  for  what  I  have  done. 
The  law  is  an  abomination.  Why  can't  they  let  my 
pretty  pigeon  alone  ?  As  if  there  wasn't  babies  enough 
without  making  a  fuss  if  one  does  drop  off  a  little  out 
of  the  common  way  ?" 

"  I'll  tell  her.  It's  hard,  but  what  is  before  me  I  can 
do,"  said  the  woman. 

"  Can't  I  help  little  ?"  said  a  sweet  voice  from  the 
hearth,  "or  Jube?  he's  very  strong." 

The  doctor  looked  down  on  little  Paul  with  a  glance 
half  quizzical,  half  serious. 

"  You,  little  shoat,  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  madame  please,"  said  Paul,  with  a  sad  smile ; 
"  if  there's  trouble,  I  and  Jube  very  used  to  it.  We've 
been  in  a  boat  together  three  days,  with  nothing  but  red 
hot  sun  and  many  waters  to  look  on,  till  they  blind  us. 
We  know  how  to  be  hungry  and  cold,  and  he  knows  how 
to  be  whipped  on  his  back  and  never  say  a  word.  That 
is  why  we  can  help." 

"  That  little  trooper  is  what  I  call  a  pilgrim,"  mut- 
tered the  guard,  nodding  at  the  doctor  with  a  wink  of 
the  left  eye. 

Mrs.  Allen  laid  her  unsteady  hand  on  Paul's  dark 
curls.  "  He  is  a  good  boy,  and  God  will  bless  him,"  she 
said. 

Paul,  with  that  touching  grace  that  is  so  beautiful  in 
highly  bred  children  of  foreign  birth,  took  the  hard  hand 
of  his  benefactress  and  touched  it  to  his  lips. 

"  He  ought  to  have  been  sent  to  school,"  she  said,  in 
a  weary  voice,  addressing  the  doctor.  "  My  son  charged 
it  upon  me,  but  I  could  not  leave  her." 

The  doctor  wheeled  round,  and  examined  Paul's  face 
from  beneath  his  heavy  eyebrows. 


236  THE     RED     SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

"  Go  get  your  cap  and  great  coat,"  he  said  with  gruff 
kindness.  "  If  j-ou've  got  a  wedge  of  mince  pie  or  a 
slice  of  gingerbread,  Mrs.  Allen,  drop  it  into  a  dinner 
basket,  and  I'll  put  the  shaver  on  his  course  of  studies 
in  double-quick  time.  Send  him  out  when  all  is  ready." 

It  took  the  doctor  some  minutes  to  mount  his  horse. 
By  the  time  he  was  in  the  saddle,  Paul  came  forth  with 
a  painted  dinner  basket  on  his  arm.  A  new  pair  of  mit- 
tens imprisoned  his  delicate  hands,  while  the  yarn  com- 
forter that  Rice  had  given  him  was  twisted  around  his 
neck,  and  concealed  the  lower  part  of  his  face. 

"  That's  right,  little  trooper ;  climb  up  the  fence  and 
hop  on  behind.  That's  it — sharp  as  a  steel  trap.  Sit 
up  close  and  hold  on  to  my  belt.  All  right.  Here  we 
go !  Get  up !  Get  along,  I  say  !" 

The  doctor's  horse  had  been  used  to  carrying  double 
in  all  sorts  of  ways,  so  he  only  threw  up  his  head,  and 
cast  his  long  mane  on  the  air  like  a  banner,  intend- 
ing this  action  as  a  protest  against  extra  burdens  in 
general,  before  he  started  off  in  a  heavy  trot  toward 
Falls  Hill. 

The  doctor  was  heavy-hearted  enough,  but  he  took 
some  note  of  the  strange  child  under  his  charge,  told 
him  to  hang  on  to  his  belt  like  a  dog  to  a  sassafras 
root,  and  expressed  a  decided  opinion  that  Paul  would 
be  a  man  before  his  mother,  which  filled  the  boy's  heart 
with  sadness,  as*  that  word  mother  was  ever  sure  to  do. 

The  red  school-house  at  Shrub  Oak  was  half  a  mile 
out  of  the  doctor's  way,  but  instead  of  setting  Paul 
down  at  the  willow  tree  on  the  corner,  he  put  his  eccen- 
tric steed  to  its  mettle,  and  drew  up  in  front  of  that 
sublime  scat  of  learning  with  considerable  dash. 

"  Holloa  there,  Tibbies  1  Holloa  I  I  say !  Come  out 
and  get  a  new  scholar." 


THE     RED     SCHOOL-HOUSE.  237 

Mr.  Tibbies,  the  master,  heard  this  shout  while  in 
the  midst  of  his  pupils,  and  laying  down  his  ruler  with 
dignity,  moved  toward  the  door,  leaving  a  hum  and  rush 
of  whispers  behind,  which  might  have  reminded  one  of 
Babel  before  the  inmates  had  ventured  entirely  upon  their 
new  tongues. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Tibbies  ?  Young  ideas  shoot  pros- 
perously— ha  ?  Give  'em  the  birch — give  'em  the  birch. 
Nothing  like  it.  Whipped  half  out  of  my  skin  before  I 
got  through  Webster's  spelling-book.  Did  me  good. 
Give  'em  birch ;  and  if  you  can't  find  that  handy,  try 
hemlock  sprouts.  Tingle  beautifully." 

The  master  took  these  suggestions1  demurely,  and 
asked  if  the  little  boy  upon  the  horse  wanted  to  come 
to  school. 

"  Yes.  Hop  down,  shaver.  Give  him  a  lift,  Tibbies. 
A  little  Frenchman  from  St.  Domingo.  Nothing  but  a 
nest  of  niggers  left  there.  Killed  all  the  white  folks  off. 
Nice  country,  that.  You  have  heard  of  the  boy  that 
stuck  to  the  wrecked  brig  with  Dave  Rice  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  doctor,"  answered  Tibbies,  brightening. 

"  There  he  is,  large  as  life.  Take  good  care  of  him, 
for  he's  worth  a  dozen  of  your  common  fellows.  Put 
him  through  English,  and  give  him  a  touch  of  Latin,  if 
you  remember  any.  Who  knows  but  I  may  take  him 
for  a  student  one  of  these  days  ?" 

While  the  doctor  was  speaking,  he  took  Paul  by  the 
hand,  and  swung  him  lightly  to  the  ground.  Mr.  Tibbies 
took  possession  of  the  handsome  boy  with  no  little 
pride  ;  for  the  child  who  had  stood  so  manfully  by  David 
Rice  had  become  a  historical  character  in  Shrub  Oak, 
and  the  master  felt  the  dignity  of  his  school  enhanced 
by  Paul's  advent  there. 


238  THE     RED     SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

Paul  was  a  good  deal  embarrassed  as  he  entered 
school  with  thirty  pairs  of  eyes  levelled  at  him,  sparkling 
with  every  possible  degree  of  curiosity.  He  sat  down 
on  a  little  bench,  blushing  like  a  girl,  but  looking  so 
modest  and  gentle  withal,  that  the  whole  school  felt 
a  general  and  kindly  impulse  toward  the  stranger. 
The  bluest  covered  spelling-book  was  handed  to  him 
from  the  master's  desk.  One  boy  volunteered  to  lend 
him  a  slate,  and  another  took  a  new  pencil  from  his 
pocket  and  gave  it  to  him  outright,  looking  triumphantly 
round  at  the  little  girls'  bench  to  be  sure  that  his  inti- 
mac}r  with  the  distinguished  stranger  had  made  its  im- 
pression in  that  quarter. 

At  noon  time  there  was  no  limit  to  the  hospitalities  of 
the  occasion  ;  wonder-cakes,  biscuits,  and  wedges  of 
pumpkin  pie,  made  their  way  into  Paul's  dinner  basket. 
One  pretty  little  girl  slily  offered  him  a  rusty  coated 
apple,  and  another  was  ambitious  to  teach  him  how  to 
slide  on  a  strip  of  ice  that  lay,  like  a  mammoth  looking- 
glass,  a  little  distance  down  the  turnpike. 

Paul  received  all  these  kindnesses  with  gentle  grace. 
His  broken  speech,  the  sweet  expression  of  his  eyes,  the 
natural  refinement  which  even  children  could  feel,  made 
him  a  general  favorite  in  less  than  two  hours.  The 
large  boys  were  already  arranging  to  lend  him  their 
sleds.  As  for  the  girls,  the  whispering  and  nudging 
that  took  place  among  them  whenever  the  lad  lifted 
those  splendid  eyes  from  his  book,  was  a  scandal  to  the 
whole  school  and  sex. 

When  Paul  went  out  of  school  at  night  he  felt  very 
lonesome  and  forlorn,  not  exactly  knowing  his  way 
home,  and  a  good  deal  dismayed  by  the  snow,  which  was 
getting  damp  and  heavy,  with  a  succession  of  warm, 


A     TERRIBLE     DISCLOSURE.  239 

foggy  days.  While  he  was  standing  in  the  door,  uncer- 
tain which  way  to  turn,  two  large  boys,  rosy  from  the 
fresh  air,  came  racing  up  harnessed  to  a  hand  sled,  in 
their  opinion  a  marvel  of  workmanship,  which  was  ex 
pected  to  lift  the  stranger  off  his  feet  with  admiration. 

With  cordial  hospitality,  the  boys  offered  this  convey 
ance  to  Paul,  who  accepted  it  in  good  faith,  and  the 
boys  carried  him  away  in  triumph,  dashing  off  toward 
Falls  Hill,  and  up  the  crossroad,  in  splendid  style. 

The  next  day,  one  of  these  boys — the  same  little  fel- 
low who  had  given  Rose  Mason  the  string  of  robins' 
eggs,  might  have  been  seen  hanging  around  Mrs.  Allen's 
gate,  looking  wistfully  at  the  front  door.  When  it 
opened,  and  Paul  came  forth,  the  lad  ran  to  meet  him, 
and  the  two  went  away  together,  talking  earnestly  on 
the  road  to  school. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A  TERRIBLE   DISCLOSURE. 

ALAS  !  the  sad  and  heavj^-hearted  sorrow  that  was  left 
behind  on  the  day  that  little  Paul  went  forth  to  his 
school-boy  life.  Twice,  Mrs.  Allen  went  into  Katharine's 
room  and  sat  down,  pale  and  soul-stricken,  waiting  to 
be  questioned ;  but  her  daughter  had  been  exhausted  by 
her  conversation  with  the  doctor,  and  lay  with  her  eyes 
closed,  weary  of  all  things.  So,  drawing  a  deep  breath 
from  a  consciousness  of  this  reprieve,  the  wretched  wo- 
man went  away  again  still  more  heavily  laden  with  the 


240  A     TERRIBLE     DISCLOSURE. 

duty  that  clung  to  her  like  a  vampire,  and  so  a  "week 
passed  by  without  another  attempt.  At  last,  toward 
nightfall  one  day,  Katharine  spoke  : 

"  Mother  ?" 

"My  child." 

"  What  is  it  that  you  are  all  afraid  of  telling  me  ?" 

"  A  great  trouble,  Katharine ;  something  that  even 
I,  who  have  some  courage,  tremble  to  speak  of." 

"  Is  it  about  my  baby,  mother  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  willing  to  answer  me  ;  the  doctor 
put  me  off." 

"  But  I  will  not  put  you  off,  my  poor  child." 

"What  is  it,  mother?  This  frightens  me — your 
voice  is  husky,  your  face  strange — did  my  baby  die  a 
hard  death?" 

"  Yes,  very  hard.      It  was  killed." 

The  voice  was  indeed  husky  that  uttered  these  words. 

Katharine  rose  up  in  the  bed,  her  eyes  grew  large  and 
wild. 

"  Killed  ?" 

"  Yes,  God  help  ITS — it  was  dead  and  buried  when  we 
found  it." 

"  Dead  and  buried ;  mother,  mother  !" 

The  words  came  forth  in  a  sharp  cry,  breaking  the 
pale  lips  apart  and  leaving  them  so. 

"  I  left  it  alive,  Katharine — sleeping  by  your  side. 
Can  you  remember  when  I  went  out  that  day  after  a 
man  to  haul  some  wood  from  Castle  Rock?" 

Katharine  held  both  hands  to  her  temples,  rocking 
to  and  fro  as  if  the  effort  to  think  cost  great  pain. 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  remember  about  the  wood.  You  put 
the  shawl,  that  David  sent  me,  over  my  shoulders.  The 


A     TERRIBLE     DISCLOSURE.  241 

baby  was  asleep  then,  with  one  hand  to  its  mouth.  I 
took  the  hand  away  just  to  see  it  nestle ;  its  pretty  lips 
were  moving  all  the  time." 

"  What  then  ?" 

"  It  was  a  noise,  mother — a  trumpet  sounding  through 
the  house — dead  leaves,  white  leaves  flying  all  about 
me  ;  then,  mother,  then  immense  heaps  of  snow  rolling, 
heaving,  and  spreading  everywhere.  I — I  cannot  re- 
member how  I  got  in  or  out  of  this  cold  whiteness.  It 
seemed  to  bury  me  in  a  long  sleep." 

"  Poor  child — poor  little  Katharine." 

"  Oh,  I  remember  you  called  me  that  when  I  was  a 
very  small  child." 

"  Katharine,  try  ;  can  you  remember  nothing  more  ?" 

"  Nothing  more,  only  as  one  recollects  that  she  has 
been  miserably  asleep." 

"  But  it  was  in  this  time,  while  I  was  away  to  see 
about  that  wood,  that  our  baby  was  killed." 

"  Killed !— how  ?" 

"  Strangled." 

"  Mother— mother !" 

The  anguish  of  this  cry  made  the  poor  woman  trem- 
ble ;  but  she  must  speak  out  all  her  fearful  knowledge 
or  her  daughter  would  never  be  prepared  for  the  future. 

"  Mother,  tell  me— tell  me  1" 

The  poor  young  creature  lay  gasping  upon  her  pillow. 
It  was  a  terrible  scene  to  witness. 

"  It  had  been  strangled  or  smothered,  and  buried  deep 
in  the  snow,  by  the  rocks  under  the  butternut  tree,  half 
way  to  Mr.  Thrasher's." 

"  There — there  in  sight  of  his  father's  house  !" 

She  writhed  in  anguish  on  her  bed,  weak,  fragile,  tor- 
15 


2-12  A     TERRIBLE     DISCLOSURE. 

tured,  it  seemed  as  if  she  must  die  before  another  shock 
reached  her. 

"  Dead — buried  in  the  snow,"  she  kept  repeating. 

The  mother  knelt  by  the  bed,  holding  forth  her  arms, 
which  the  wretched  girl  could  not  see. 

"Ask  God  to  give  you  strength,  Katharine." 

"You  ask  him  for  me,  mother;  my  heart  aches  so." 

"  Oh,  Katharine,  we  have  greater  trouble  yet  to 
come." 

"  Greater  trouble  than  the  death  of  one's  little  babe — 
that  can  never  be !"  Katharine  answered  with  pathetic 
pain.  "  No,  no,  mother,  that  can  never  be  !" 

"  Katharine,  the  neighbors  believe  that — "  she  paused, 
put  a  hand  to  her  throat,  as  if  the  words  strangled  her, 
and  went  on  in  a  voice  so  near  a  whisper  that  it  sounded 
unearthly,  "believe  that  you  killed  the  child." 

" Kill  my  child  !     Did  they  know  I  was  its  mother?" 

"  Killed  and  buried  it  with  your  own  hands  in  the 
snow,"  persisted  the  woman,  drearily.  "  This  is  what 
they  charge  you  with,  my  daughter." 

"  No,  no,  mother !" 

"A  jury  have  decided  so." 

"A  jury  1     What  cruel  thing  is  that  ?" 

"It  is  a  court." 

"A  court !     What  was  that  for  ?" 

"  To  say  if  you  were  innocent — " 

"  Guilty  of  murdering  my  own  baby — his  and  mine ! 
Do  the  neighbors  want  a  court  to  prove  that  of  me  ?" 

"It  has  been  held,  Katharine,  here  under  my  roof." 

"  Held  here  ?" 

"And  that  is  why  we  are  never  alone." 

"  That  man — you  mean  that  man !"  cried  Katharine, 


A     TERRIBLE     DISCLOSURE.  243 

shrinking  back  in  the  bed  with  a  look  of  affright. 
"  Did  the  neighbors  put  him  here  to  watch  me  ?  Why  ?" 

"  They  fear  you  will  attempt  to  escape !" 

"  Escape  where  ?     Is  not  this  my  home  ?" 

The  old  woman  wrung  her  hands  in  bitter  agony. 
This  scene  was  racking  every  nerve  in  her  body.  That 
young  creature  had  not  fully  comprehended  that  which 
no  mother  living  could  have  told.  All  her  own  strength 
was  exhausted — she  had  no  fortitude  left.  Katharine 
lay  with  her  great,  wild  eyes  searching  her  mother's 
face,  as  it  fell  helplessly  downward  upon  her  bosom. 

"  Mother,  if  the  neighbors  believe  this,  what  will  they 
do  to  me  ?" 

"  Kill  you,  my  poor  lamb!"  the  woman  whispered. 

Katharine  did  not  seem  to  feel  this  so  keenly  as  other 
things  that  had  been  said ;  it  was  beyond  her  compre- 
hension— she  could  not  realize  it. 

"  No,  mother,  that  can  never  be.  God  knows  all 
things  I" 

The  young  creature  almost  smiled  as  she  said  this, 
and  closing  her  eyes  turned  her  face  to  the  wall. 

It  was  strange  that,  in  all  her  trouble,  she  never  once 
alluded  to  Thrasher  with  an  idea  of  protection,  or 
seemed  to  have  any  hope  of  succor  from  him.  The 
letter  he  had  sent  left  no  impression  on  her  memory, 
but  some  more  subtle  intuition  possessed  her  soul,  and 
this  secret  second-sense  held  all  hope  in  check.  This 
half  supernatural  feeling  also  had  doubtless  given  vague 
after-shado wings  of  her  child's  death  without  absolutely 
awakening  her  consciousness,  for  when  the  terrible  truth 
was  revealed  to  her  she  seemed  struggling  to  remember 
something  that  had  gone  before. 

Thus  the  real  and  the  visionary  were  so  mingled  in 


244      THE     SHADOWED    HEARTH-STONE. 

her  mind  that  a  true  realization  of  her  danger  was  im- 
possible, and  knowing  her  innocence,  a  sweet  trust  in 
the  Divine  justice  sprang  up  in  her  soul,  keeping  out  all 
fear. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII 

THE    OLD   COUPLE   ON   THEIR   SHADOWED   HEARTH-STONE. 

DURING  the  days  that  had  followed  Katharine  Allen's 
arrest — days  so  terrible  that  their  memory  could  never 
die  wholly  out  of  the  neighborhood — the  old  couple 
in  the  farm  house  beyond  the  widow  Allen's  dwelling, 
bore  their  full  share  of  the  horror  and  grief  which 
oppressed  all  who  had  known  and  loved  the  girl. 

But  both  Mr.  Thrasher  and  his  wife  were  bowed  be- 
neath a  deeper  sorrow  than  mere  commiseration  for 
one  unfortunate  creature — beneath  a  horror  more  pain- 
ful than  any  thought  of  her  sin. 

For  a  time  neither  spoke  of  it.  They  avoided  look- 
ing in  each  other's  face — those  true  hearts  that  had 
never  had  a  secret  before — lest  the  fear  that  haunted 
their  minds  should  find  utterance  in  their  e}*es. 

One  night,  as  they  sat  by  the  kitchen  fire,  the  old 
lady  mechanically  knitting,  and  her  husband  looking 
mournfully  into  the  cheerful  blaze,  her  thoughts  found 
an  almost  unconscious  utterance. 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  only  be  certain — if  Nelson  was  only 
here  to  answer  for  himself." 

Mr.  Thrasher  glanced  quickly  at  her,  then  back  into 
the  fire,  while  the  old  lady  let  her  work  fall,  and  sat 


THE    SHADOWED    H  E  A  B  TH-  S  T  0  N  E  .      245 

with  her  hands  clasped  in  her  lap,  that  mild,  womanly 
face  darkened  by  a  deeper  shadow  than  it  had  ever  be- 
fore worn. 

"  If  I  could  send  for  him,  I  would,"  replied  Mr. 
Thrasher,  with  a  sternness  his  voice  seldom  took  in  ad- 
dressing his  wife.  "  I  don't  want  to  believe  wrong  of 
any  one,  but  if  he  were  here,  I'd  question  him." 

"  I  wouldn't,"  broke  in  the  mother ;  "  my  heart  would 
break  if  I  was  sure  of  it." 

"  It's  a  black  thing,"  continued  he,  taking  no  notice 
of  her  remark,  although  the  nervous  twitching  about  his 
mouth,  and  the  tremulous  movement  of  his  hands,  proved 
that  he  had  heard  and  shared  in  her  feelings.  "  If  I 
could  look  him  in  the  eyes,"  he  continued,  the  sternness 
creeping  over  his  face  again,  "I  should  be  answered." 

"  Don't  think  harshly  of  him !"  returned  his  wife. 
"  Don't  do  that !  If  we  were  to  hear  he  was  dead,  re- 
member how  we  should  blame  ourselves  for  any  wrong 
feeling." 

"  I  would  rather  see  him  tying  dead  yonder,  where  he 
used  to  sit,  than  know  that  he  had  tempted  that  poor 
girl  into  sin." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  But  don't  talk  in  that  way,  father ; 
don't  look  like  that !  I  feel  as  if  it  wasn't  you,  with 
that  frown  on  your  face." 

She  put  out  her  hand  and  took  his.  He  clasped  his 
hard  fingers  about  hers  with  the  faithful  love  of  a  life- 
time ;  but  the  determination  and  gloom  did  not  leave 
his  features. 

"  I  want  to  go  down  to  the  house,"  pursued  the  o!4 
lady,  "but  I've  put  it  off — I  hadn't  the  courage,  some- 
how." 

"  Xor  I,"  replied  Mr.  Thrasher;  "but  isn't  it  a  dread- 


24:6      THK    SHADOWED     HEARTH-STONE. 

ful  thing  vrhen  we  are  dreading  to  ask  questions,  for 
fear  we  should  stand  face  to  face  with  our  son's  crime  ?" 

"  No,  no,  I  don't  believe  it  1  I  won't  believe  it,  father  I 
Such  cruel  words  are  unbecoming  his  parents  J" 

"  I  don't  mean  to  be  cruel  to  you  or  him,  wife.  Was 
I  ever  so  ?" 

"Never!  You  have  been  one  of  the  best  husbands 
that  ever  lived." 

She  could  not  longer  keep  back  her  tears — they  rolled 
down  her  cheeks,  and  fell,  drop  by  drop,  on  her  apron. 

"  I  must  go  to  the  house,"  she  said  ;  "  who  knows  but 
what  Mrs.  Allen  is  all  alone.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been 
hard-hearted  in  not  going  before." 

"You'd  better  go,"  he  answered.  "Yes;  it's  your 
duty." 

"  I  thought  of  asking  you  to  go  with  me,  if  you  don't 
mind.  I  should  have  more  courage  with  you  by  my 
side." 

Mr.  Thrasher  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he  said : 

"  Yes ;  we  will  go  to-morrow  morning." 

They  put  the  subject  aside ;  nor  was  it  again  resumed. 
The  chapter  in  the  Bible  was  read,  the  prayer  was  ut- 
tered— no  trouble  could  make  those  hearts  forget  that 
duty — and,  in  their  affliction,  they  only  turned  more 
earnestly  toward  the  help  and  comfort  of  their  whole 
lives. 

The  next  morning,  when  breakfast  was  over,  and  the 
work  for  the  forenoon  arranged,  the  husband  and  wife 
took  their  way  down  the  hill  toward  Mrs.  Allen's  house, 
.keeping  close  together,  as  if  great  comfort  lay  in  that 
silent  companionship. 

When  they  reached  the  gate,  both  paused,  looking, 
anxiously  at  each  other ;  when  Mr.  Thrasher  saw  the 


THE     SHADOWED     HEARTH-STONE.      247 

pale  trouble  which  agitated  his  wife,  he  tried  to  say  a 
few  comforting  words,  but  they  broke  on  his  lips. 

He  opened  the  gate,  and  they  passed  up  the  walk  to 
the  house.  Mr.  Thrasher  knocked,  but  there  was  no  re- 
sponse ;  a  second  time,  but  no  better  success. 

"  Maybe  we  might  go  in,"  whispered  his  wife,  but  he 
shook  his  head,  and  again  tapped  upon  the  door. 

After  another  instant  of  suspense,  which  seemed  very 
long  to  them,  they  heard  footsteps,  the  latch  was  lifted 
from  within,  the  door  slowly  opened,  and  Mrs.  Allen 
stood  before  them,  so  changed  by  those  terrible  days, 
that  the  old  friends  of  years  could  hardly  feel  that  it 
was  her. 

When  Mrs.  Allen  saw  who  stood  there,  she  started  a 
little,  and  the  old  pride  gathered  slowly  over  the  anguish 
of  her  face. 

"We — we  came  to  ask  how  Katharine  is,"  Mrs 
Thrasher  said,  faintly,  taking  it  upon  herself  to  break 
the  silence. 

"  She  is  better,"  returned  the  widow,  neither  moving 
to  give  them  entrance,  or  turning  her  eyes  from  that 
steady  gaze. 

"  Do  you  think  I  could  see  her  ?"  persisted  the  old 
lady,  trembling  all  over  and  ready  to  cry  aloud. 

"Nobody  sees  her  but  the  doctor,"  replied  Mrs. 
Allen. 

"  I  thought  maybe  I  could  do  something — " 

"  There  isn't  any  thing  to  do." 

Then  there  was  another  awkward  silence,  which  Mrs. 
Thrasher  broke,  with  a  timidity  which  she  could  hardly 
overcome. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Katharine,"  she  said,  "  very, 
very  much." 


243  THE     SNOW     FRESHET. 

"  She  cannot  see  any  one  now — it  is  forbidden." 

There  were  a  few  more  faint  remarks  from  Mrs. 
Thrasher,  then  the  pair  turned  away.  Mrs.  Allen  closed 
the  door,  they  walked  silently  out  of  the  }Tard  and  back 
toward  their  house,  which  had  never  appeared  so  cheer- 
less to  them. 

As  they  passed  the  butternut  tree  both  the  old  people 
turned  away  their  heads,  for  the  remembrance  of  that 
morning  when  they  stood  together  and  watched  their 
son  making  signals  from  that  very  spot,  for  the  wretched 
prisoner  to  whose  presence  they  had  been  denied  not 
half  an  hour  before,  filled  their  hearts  with  sensations 
which  neither  of  them  could  ever  express. 

It  was  a  mournful  thing  to  see  those  two  good  souls 
in  their  bungling  efforts  to  cheat  each  other  into  a  belief 
that  no  terrible  sorrow  had  fallen  upon  them.  It  was 
all  a  sad,  sad  failure. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

THE    SNOW   FRESHET. 

THEKE  was  rare  confusion  and  riot  at  the  red  school- 
house.  The  weather  had  changed  suddenly,  the  wind 
blew  from  the  south,  the  sun  lay  warm  and  dazzling 
upon  the  snow-drifts-;  but  its  treacherous  kisses  sub- 
dued their  cold  strength  and  wasted  their  beauty. 

At  last  it  settled  into  a  regular  "  thaw" — a  Xew  Eng- 
land one  at  that.  From  the  mud,  a  stranger  might  have 
thought  the  very  foundations  of  the  earth  had  been 


THE     SNOW     FRESHET.  249 

ploughed  up.  Every  snow  bank  dissolved  itself  into  a 
pert  little  rivulet,  that  swelled  the  general  tide,  and 
formed  a  muddy  lake  on  each  side  of  the  road,  along 
which  hoi'ses  and  men  passed  so  bespattered  and  stained 
that  one  could  easily  believe  they  had  been  formed 
entirely  from  clay,  and  were  fast  resolving  themselves 
back  to  the  original  element. 

A  tiny  brook,  that  died  out  in  dry  weather  and 
sprung  to  existence  on  rainy  days,  ran  along  one  end  of 
the  school-house.  It  had  slept  quietly  for  weeks  under 
its  icy  bridge,  but  woke  up  with  great  commotion  as 
thousands  of  tiny  streams  flowed  down  from  the  hills, 
and  poured  their  excited  little  wavelets  into  its  channel, 
swelling  the  brook  to  such  a  size  that  it  evidently  be- 
lieved itself  a  stupendous  sort  of  river.  It  must  have 
been  so ;  nothing  but  that  idea  very  firmly  impressed, 
could  ever  have  excused  the  reckless  conduct  of  that 
overgrown  brook. 

It  raved,  and  scolded,  and  tore  along  its  banks,  tum- 
bling the  great  stones  about,  uprooting  the  poor  little 
frozen  shrubs  that  had  clung  in  fancied  security  to  its 
brink.  Fuming,  splashing,  and  rioting  madly  across  the 
road,  the  brook  plunged  down  a  gully  at  one  end  of  the 
school-house,  and  set  up  a  famous  little  waterfall  on  its 
own  account.  Then,  rampant  and  muddj',  it  hurled 
itself  forward,  melting  the  snow  as  it  went,  and  pouring 
over  a  high  bank  of  the  river,  plunged  in  with  tumultu- 
ous "violence,  making  the  deeper  and  slower  stream  swell, 
and  eddy,  and  fume  for  a  whole  minute  as  it  swallowed 
up  the  noisy  affair. 

The  rush  of  this  brook  reached  the  boys  caged  up  in 
the  school-house,  and  nearly  drove  them  frantic.  They 
could  hear  the  snow  sliding  off  the  roof  of  the  school- 


250  THE     SNOW     FRESHET. 

house,  and  fall  in  heaps  under  the  eaves,  which  dripped 
with  incessant  moisture.  Now  and  then  came  a  crash 
of  icicles,  breaking  up  the  sunshine  like  splintered  dia- 
monds, and  scattering  broken  fragments  of  crystal  all 
over  the  snow. 

This  riot  of  waters  and  crashing  of  ice  were  enough  to 
disorganize  the  best  school  in  New  England.  The  boys 
might  be  kept  on  the  hard  benches ;  but  no  power  on 
earth  would  tame  them  down  to  real  study.  There  they 
sat,  burning  with  impatience,  yet  trying  their  best  to 
look  studious  and  quiet,  whenever  the  master's  eyes 
were  upon  them. 

For  some  reason,  there  was  to  be  a  half  holiday  that 
afternoon,  and  the  poor  little  sinners  waited  as  restlessly 
as  so  many  wild  pigeons,  with  their  wings  tied,  for  the 
hour  which  should  contain  their  release. 

A  plan  of  operation  for  the  afternoon  had  been  al- 
ready decided  upon — I  do  not  think  there  was  one  dis- 
senting voice — and  of  all  the  fun  which  the  whole  year 
might  bring  there  would  be  nothing  equal  to  that  which 
they  anticipated  as  soon  as  the  school  was  dismissed. 

But  it  really  seemed  as  if  twelve  o'clock  never  would 
come !  Those  boys  began  to  think,  one  and  all,  that  the 
master  had  never  been  so  slow  in  hearing  the  lessons. 
At  last  he  became  so  irritated  by  their  restlessness  and 
inattention,  that  great  fears  arose  that  the  holiday  might 
be  lost  altogether. 

When  that  horrible  prophecy  was  whispered  about — 
it  originated  with  an  unhappy-looking  little  Belshazzar, 
who  was  afflicted  with  a  step-father,  and  who,  from  the 
vast  stores  of  his  experience,  was  always  ready  to  draw 
out  sorrowful  warnings — I  say,  when  it  got  whispered 
about,  several  of  the  larger  boys  nodded  their  heads  at 


THE     SNOW     FEESHET.  251 

each  other  and  looked  ferociously  rebellious,  while  the 
little  ones  eyed  them  with  profound  admiration.  Just 
at  that  moment,  the  master's  hand  glided  softly  toward 
the  great  ferule  that  lay  upon  his  desk ;  and  somehow, 
at  that  sight,  the  mutineers  became  wonderfully  inter- 
ested in  their  lessons,  and  their  small  admirers  retreated 
into  their  spelling-books  so  far  that  there  seemed  danger 
of  their  disappearing  altogether. 

The  moment  came  at  last.  The  master  pulled  out  his 
silver  watch,  which  ticked  so  loud  and  wrathfully  that 
it  could  be  heard  all  over  the  room — glanced  at  it,  while 
every  boy  held  his  breath  with  anxiety.  He  waited  an 
instant,  in  order  to  give  due  solemnity  to  the  occasion, 
then  down  came  the  ferule  on  the  desk  with  a  grand 
crash.  School  was  dismissed. 

Out  rushed  the  boys,  tumbling  over  each  other  in 
hot  haste,  shrieking,  hallooing,  and  plunging  into  the 
snow  with  shouts  of  eager  delight.  Even  Belshazzar 
forgot  his  forebodings,  and  was  foremost  in  this  race 
after  fun. 

The  teacher,  a  kind,  elderly  man,  went  to  the  school- 
house  door  and  watched  the  tumult  benignly  from  be- 
neath the  steel-bowed  spectacles  that  had  been  hastily 
thrust  across  his  forehead.  His  face,  which  had  been 
severe,  in  a  strained  effort  to  keep  up  the  dignity  of  his 
school,  noAv  beamed  with  infinite  satisfaction,  and  rub- 
bing his  hands  gleefully,  he  was  sorely  tempted  to  take 
ti  share  in  the  fun  himself.  Damming  up  a  torrent  like 
that  which  came  tumbling  across  the  road,  was  some- 
thing worth  while,  even  for  a  man. 

The  boys  rushed  down  to  the  swollen  brook  where  it 
entered  the  gulley  and  made  a  tumultuous  descent  to 
the  river,  which  was  only  concealed  from  the  bulk  win- 


252  THE     SNOW     FRESHET. 

dows  of  the  school-house  by  a  growth  of  young  hem- 
locks that  contrasted  richly  with  the  crusted  snow. 
Here  the  boys  were  bound  to  make  a  dam  big  enough 
to  drown  a  fellow  in,  neck  and  heels.  Who  cared  for 
the  mud  ?  Who  was  afraid  of  the  snow  ?  Hurrah  1 
hurrah !  come  on  all  hands  and  pitch  in.  There  is  a 
broken  rail.  Look  out  for  the  loose  stones  in  that 
tumble-down,  old  wall.  Bring  up  drift  wood  from 
the  river,  dead  branches  from  the  trees ;  tear  loads 
of  moss  from  the  white  oak  stumps  ;  bring  any  thing, 
every  thing.  Had  any  boy  pluck  enough  to  drag  out 
some  logs  from  the  school  wood  pile  ?  "  Oh,  golly !  there 
is  the  master  standing  square  in  the  door,  and  little 
Paul,  the  furrener,  talking  to  him.  Hurrah !  the  master 
is  sending  him  off  to  join  the  fun.  Isn't  he  a  trump  ?" 

Some  of  the  boys  stood  still,  knee  deep  in  the  water, 
frightened  half  to  death  by  that  wicked  word — trump. 
But  Tom  Hutchins  cried  out  with  wonderful  audacity, 
"  Trump  !  who'se  afeard  ?  He's  a  high,  low,  jack,  and 
the  game,  he  is!  There  he  goes  into  the  school-house 
just  to  give  us  a  chance  at  the  wood  pile.  Come  on, 
boys  !" 

Away  the  little  fellows  went,  leaping  like  deer  out  of  the 
mud,  and  directly  a  whole  team  of  boys  came  dragging 
a  walnut  log  through  the  snow,  leaving  a  deep  path  all 
the  way  from  the  wood  pile,  which  the  master  never 
could  be  made  to  see,  spectacles  or  no  spectacles,  any 
more  than  he  could  hear  the  tumbling  logs  close  under 
the  window  where  he  was  sitting.  I  am  inclined  to 
think  the  bo}-s  were  right,  and  that  old  man  was  a 
trump,  though  he  did  belong  to  the  church. 

"Hurrah!  stand  from  under,"  said  Tom  Hutchins, 
looking  down  upon  a  swarm  of  schoolmates  who  were 


THE     SNOW     FRESHET.  253 

busy  as  bees  in  the  mud  and  water  of  the  gully.  "  Here 
comes  the  crowner — A  number  one,  and  no  mistake. 
Come  up  here  and  give  a  boost,  you  chaps." 

The  boys  sprang  up  the  muddy  sides  of  the  gully, 
dripping  like  water-gods,  reckless  of  wet  jackets,  torn 
trowsers,  and  shoes  from  which  the  water  came  up  in 
gushes,  and  helped  pitch  that  great,  knotty  log  end 
foremost  into  the  gully,  where  it  was  to  form  a  line  for 
the  water  to  sweep  over. 

"  Take  it  by  the  end — lift  all  at  once — now,  heave  all 
together.  Hurrah !  hurrah  !" 

Paul  had,  indeed,  lingered  around  the  school-house 
door  till  the  master  sent  him  off  to  join  the  play.  Then 
he  went  down  to  the  brook  and  stood  disconsolate  on 
its  high  bank,  as  all  this  wild  fun  went  on.  He  was  cold 
and  confused.  No  one  asked  him '  to  help  dam  up  the 
brook,  so  he  stood  in  the  snow,  buried  to  the  ears  in  his 
overcoat  and  comforter,  and  thinking  that  the  watery 
sunshine  was  a  very  poor  imitation  of  the  tropical 
warmth  in  which  he  had  formerly  luxuriated. 

He  was  at  a  loss  how  to  take  part  in  their  play ;  be- 
sides that,  the  very  roar  of  the  water,  and  riot  of  the 
boys,  reminded  him  of  that  fearful  night  when  he  was 
made  an  orphan,  and  so  recalled  his  sufferings,  that  he 
longed  to  get  beyond  the  sound.  As  for  the  boys,  they 
were  all  too  much  engaged  to  notice  his  abstraction  or 
ask  his  assistance. 


254  ALL     SORTS     OF     TREASON. 

t 

CHAPTER    XXXY. 

ALL    SOETS   OF    TREASON. 

I  B[AVE  done  a  little  injustice  to  Tom  Hutchins — the 
warm-hearted  lad  who  had  been  so  in  love  with  little 
Rose  Mason,  and  was  sure  to  be  in  love  with  every  boy 
or  girl  who  awoke  his  admiration,  or  needed  his  help. 
It  was  he  who  had  proposed  to  draw  Paul  home  on  his 
sled,  on  his  first  lonely  school  day,  and  since  that  time 
a  warm  friendship  had  sprung  up  between  the  two  lads. 
The  first  liking  had  been  cemented  by  an  exchange 
of  doughnuts,  wonder  cakes,  and  red-cheeked  apples. 
Then  Tom  had  undertaken  to  teach  Paul  English  in 
conversational  lessons,  and  picked  up  a  few  scraps  of 
French  from  the  boy,  fairly  believing  himself  to  be 
speaking  a  foreign  language  when  he  twisted  his  hard, 
New  England  tongue  into  imitations  of  Paul's  pretty 
broken  English,  in  which  the  boy  could  now  make  him- 
self understood. 

In  the  midst  of  his  eager  work  on  the  dam,  Tom  saw 
Paul  standing  alone  on  the  bank  and  called  to  him. 
But  Paul  shook  his  head,  with  a  sad  smile,  and  shrunk 
further  away  from  the  water.  Then  Tom  gave  one 
great  heave  at  the  log  which  was  to  complete  the  dam, 
shook  the  mud  from  his  hands,  and  went  dripping 
np  the  bank,  with  his  face  all  aglow,  and  smiling  as  if 
he  had  just  come  out  of  a  spring  shower,  and  was  in- 
viting his  friend  down  to  watch  the  wild  flowers  start 
up  in  his  track. 

"  Are  you  cold,  Paul  ?"  he  asked,  dancing  about  till 
the  water  splashed  over  the  tops  of  his  boots. 


ALL     SORTS     OF     TREASON".  255 

"  A  little,"  Paul  said,  shivering.     "  Only  a  little." 

"Why,  it's  a'most  like  summer,"  returned  Tom. 
"  Splendid." 

"Is  it?"  Paul  asked,  shivering  worse  than  ever,  as 
he  thought  what  a  forlorn  idea  of  summer  people  must 
have  in  that  frigid  land. 

"  Why,  how  you  do  shiver,"  cried  Tom.  "  Let'stake 
a  run  up  the  hill  and  back,  or  you'll  freeze  solid." 

"But  you  want  to  play,"  Paul  said;  "go  with  the 
boys,  they  are  calling  for  you." 

"  Let  'em,"  replied  Tom,  philosophically,  consoled  at 
once  by  the  idea  that  his  playmates  needed  his  assist- 
ance, and  too  full  of  generous  kindness  for  any  thought 
of  leaving  Paul  to  his  loneliness.  "  Come  along — let's 
see  who'll  get  to  the  top  first." 

At  the  conclusion  of  their  race  Paul  had  got  a  color 
in  his  cheeks,  and  felt  somewhat  less  like  an  icicle  than 
before. 

Then  Tom  paused,  and  looked  Paul  in  the  face  quite 
seriously. 

"  Come  down  here  among  the  hemlocks ;  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  where  the  boys  can't  hear.  We  might  do  it 
in  French,  you  know — you  and  I — but  mebby  we'd 
better  have  it  out  according  to  the  spelling-book." 

Paul  smiled,  and  followed  his  friend  to  the  bank  of 
the  river,  where  they  sat  down  under  the  sheltering 
hemlock  boughs.  Tom  shivered  a  little,  but  he  shook 
the  weakness  off,  and  broke  forth  at  once  into  the  sub- 
ject that  was  on  his  mind. 

Tom's  head  was  full  of  Katharine  Allen  and  her 
troubles,  a  subject  upon  which  he  and  Paul  had  held 
many  earnest  conversations,  interspersed  by  nvysterious 
hints  about  Rose  Mason  and  Tom's  unhappy  state  of 
mind  regarding  her  absence  in  some  unknown  country. 


256  ALL     SORTS     OF     TREASON. 

"Paul,  how  is  Katharine  Allen  this  morning?"  he 
said,  abruptly. 

Paul  shook  his  head  sadly  b}r  way  of  answer. 

"Not  any  better  ?"  asked  Tom.  "  "Wai,  I'm  sorry  for 
her,  anyhow.  Little  Rose  liked  her,  and  she  was  always 
good  to  Rose.  It  scares  me  to  death  to  think  what 
they  Ire  going  to  do  to  her." 

"Who?"  asked  Paul. 

"Why  the  law,  of  course,"  replied  Tom,  shocked  at 
his  friend's  ignorance.  "You  know  they're  going  to 
take  her  to  prison  as  soon  as  she's  well  enough  to  be 
carried  there." 

"Yes,  I  know.  They  are  wicked  men,  too  wicked," 
exclaimed  Paul ;  "  why  can't  they  leave  her  alone  ?" 

"You  mustn't  say  any  thing  agin  the  squire,"  re- 
turned Tom,  with  his  New  England  respect  for  the  law 
and  its  ministers.  "  I'm  sorry  for  her,  but  you  see  she 
kinder  killed  the  baby,  poor  little  critter — I  guess  she 
was  crazy,  though,  I  do,  but  marm  won't  hear  on  it." 

"Why  don't  her  husband  come  and  help  her,"  Paul 
suggested. 

"  She  haint  got  any — oh,  dear  no,  that's  the  worst  on 
it,  marm  says." 

"  Oh,  she  must  have." 

"  Oh,  must  she !"  retorted  Tom,  exulting  in  his  knowl- 
edge of  this  world's  wickedness,  gained  from  conversa- 
tions he  had  overheard  concerning  the  poor  girl,  yet 
perplexed,  and  quite  unable  to  settle  the  matter  to  his 
own  satisfaction.  Still  he  had  no  intention  of  allowing 
Paul  to  suppose  that  his  wisdom  was  more  than  half 
assumed. 

"I'm  glad  Miss  Rose  ain't  here,  anyhow,"  he  ob- 
served ;  "  she'd  break  her  heart  about  all  this.  I  know 
she  would." 


ALL     SORTS     OF     TREASON.  257 

Paul  thought  the  girl's  heart  must  be  colder  than  the 
weather  if  it  would  not  have  that  effect,  and  nodded  his 
approbation  of  Tom's  sentiment. 

*  Katharine  is  getting  stronger ;  they  talk  of  carrying 
her  off  in  a  day  or  two,"  continued  Tom.  "  I  heard  our 
folks  say  so  this  morning." 

Paul's  great  eyes  dimmed  with  tears,  then  a  quick  pas- 
sion turned  them  into  fire. 

"  I  could  kill  them,"  he  said.     "  Yes,  I  could." 

"'Twouldn't  be  no  use,"  remarked  Tom,  sapiently; 
"  'cause  they'd  only  take  you  off  too.  I  wish  we  could 
do  something,  though — I  wish  we  could." 

"Can't  we?"  questioned  Paul,  his  face  kindling  with 
eagerness.  "  Oh,  don't  you  think  we  could  ?" 

"  You're  such  a  little  bit  of  a  chap,"  Tom  replied, 
eyeing  his  companion,  with  a  natural  exultation  at  his 
own  superiority  in  point  of  inches  and  weight. 

"  I'm  little,"  Paul  said,  "  but  I  am  very  brave — oh, 
you  don't  know!  And  Jube — Jube  is  strong  like  a 
lion,  he  could  do  any  thing." 

"  I  wonder  if  she  couldn't  run  away,"  Tom  burst  out, 
quite  overcome  by  his  own  inspiration.  "  I  don't  sup- 
pose she  could  run,  you  know,  but  she  might  get  away." 

"And  we  could  help,"  Paul  said,  his  quick  intelli- 
gence seizing  at  once  upon  the  suggestion ;  "  I  am  sure 
we  could." 

"  Why,  my  marm  would  kill  me !"  exclaimed  Tom. 
"  Wouldn't  I  ketch  it,  oh,  my !" 

"  You  would  beg  and  pray,"  said  Paul ;  "  she  could  not 
refuse — she  would  be  willing." 

"  Wai,  I  guess  we  wouldn't  ask  her — 'tain't  disobejan' 
when  you  hain't  been  told  not  to  do  a  thing,  and  nobody 
can  tell  you  what  to  do  when  they  never  heerd  of  it." 
16 


258  ALL     SORTS     OF     TREASON. 

Tom  got  dreadfully  bewildered  in  his  labyrinth  of 
negatives  and  Paul  was  unable  to  make  much  of  his 
speech,  but  he  was  certain  that  it  harmonized  with  his 
own  ideas,  even  if  he  did  fail  to  comprehend  its  entire 
signification. 

"  We  could  help  her,"  he  kept  repeating ;  "  I  am  sure 
we*could." 

"  I  do  wonder  what  the  squire  would  say  ?"  said  Tom, 
giggling  at  the  very  idea,  although  somewhat  frightened 
at  its  audacity.  "  Wouldn't  there  be  a  rumpus — oh,  my 
golly!" 

He  laughed  outright,  and  Paul  joined  him  from  sym- 
pathy with  that  merry  face ;  but  he  became  thoughtful 
again  in  a  moment. 

"You  are  certain  they  would  take  her  away  from 
home  and  lock  her  up  in  that  dark,  lonesome  place  you 
call  a  prison  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  Sure  as  a  gun.  Par  says  so,  and  he  knows  the 
squires  and  lawyers  about  here  all  to  pieces ;  but  that 
aint  the  worst  of  it,  not  by  a  jug  full." 

The  good-hearted  little  fellow's  voice  began  to  choke 
in  his  throat,  and  he  burst  into  a  laugh  to  keep  from 
sobbing  outright. 

"  What  can  be  worse  than  that  ?"  inquired  Paul, 
startled  by  his  friend's  demonstration. 

"  They'll  kill  her  !" 

Paul  turned  deadly  pale.  The  horror  in  Tom's  words 
had  struck  him  dumb. 

"  They'll  hang  her  up  on  a  gallows  made  of  two  high 
posts,  with  a  cross-bar  on  the  top,"  continued  Tom, 
shuddering  at  his  own  words,  "  and  a  halter  fastened  to 
the  cross-bar,  which  they  will  tie  round  her  pretty  white 
neck,  that  Rose  used  to  hug  so  much." 


ALL     SORTS     OF     TREASON.  259 

"  Don't,  oh,  don't !"  whispered  Paul,  putting  up  his 
hands  ;  "  it  makes  me  tremble  all  over." 

"And  so  it  does  me,"  cried  Tom,  dashing  the  tears 
from  his  blue  eyes.  "  But  you  ought  to  know  it  just  as 
it  is,  the  burning  brand  and  all." 

"The  burning  brand — what  is  that?"  asked  Paul, 
faintly. 

"  The  hot  iron  that  they  stamp  M — that's  for  mur- 
derer, you  know — on  her  hand  !" 

"  Oh,  me  I"  sighed  Paul.     "  That  petite  white  hand  !" 

"  Sometimes  the  courts  do  that,  and  let  'em  live  in 
Shnsbury  all  the  rest  of  their  lives.  Sometimes  they 
hang  'em  right  up.  I  don't  know  which  they'll  do  to 
her." 

"  But  they  will  do  some  of  these  awful  things  ?"  ques- 
tioned Paul,  breathing  as  if  he  was  chilled  through  with 
the  cold. 

"  Of  course,  they've  got  to  do  it.  The  law  won't  let 
'em  back  out  if  they  wanted  to." 

"  Oh,  dear,  it  makes  me  feel  so  wicked,"  cried  Paiil, 
brave  thoughts  kindling  through  the  pallor  of  his  face. 
"I  want  to  cry  and  strike  somebody  at  the  same  time." 

"  Strike  !  I  want  to  maul  some  of  'em !  Oh,  if  them 
courts  was  only  little  boys,  and  I  the  law,  wouldn't  they 
come  down  on  their  marrow  bones  and  beg  her  pardon 
for  thinking  of  such  a  thing.  Besides,  do  you  see, 
Paul,  I  don't  believe  she  killed  the  baby.  Anyway, 
them  little  creatures,  with  long  flannel  petticoats  a  hang- 
ing over  their  feet,  are  always  doing  things  to  torment 
grown  folks,  catching  the  rash,  and  measles,  and  chicken- 
pox,  to  say  nothing  of  a  habit  they  get  into  of  hiccuping 
right  in  a  feller's  face  when  he's  told  to  tend  'em.  Ba- 
bies! They're  the  only  thing  I  ever  raly  had  agin 


260  ALL     SORTS     OF     TREASON. 

marm — she  always  would  be  keeping  one  on  hand,  just 
for  us  to  rock,  and  tend,  and  hush  up.  Par  never  would 
make  a  fuss  about  it,  as  a  man  aught  ter  with  such 
goings  on  in  the  house." 

"  Perhaps  he  rather  liked  them !"  suggested  Paul. 

"  Liked  'em.  Well,  maybe  he  did,  there's  no  saying ; 
besides,  they're  well  enough  in  their  place,  and  that,  ac- 
cording to  my  notion,  is  sound  asleep  in  the  cradle. 
Anyhow,  what's  the  use  of  making  sich  a  time  about  it 
when  one  of  'em  stops  crying  for  good  and  all,  and  what 
on  airth  could  anybody  think  that  ere  young  gal  wanted 
with  one  of  'em  a  tagging  after  her?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Paul,  tenderly;  "but  from 
the  way  she  looks  at  the  empty  cradle  sometimes,  it 
seems  to  me  as  if  she  wanted  it  there  very  much." 

"  Of  course  she  does.  It's  a  way  of  the  wimmen 
folks  have.  I  don't  know  about  marm,  for  our  cradle 
never  is  empty ;  but  some  wimmen  make  such  fools  of 
themselves,  it's  enough  to  set  a  feller  agin  the  whole 
pack  and  boodle  on  'em." 

"  You  don't  mean  all  the  beautiful  ladies,"  said  Paul, 
thinking  sadly  of  his  own  sweet  mother. 

"  There's  marm — she's  a  purty  good  kind  of  a  woman 
after  all,  and  Miss  Mason,  harnsome  as  a  pictur.  Then, 
little  Rose — oh,  my !  don't  you  wish  you  could  see  her, 
with  her  white  aprons  ruffled  all  around,  and  her  long 
curls,  just  like  a  wax  doll.  But  then  the  generality  of 
'em — well,  I  don't  want  to  say  nothin'." 

"That  was  a  very  nice  little  lady  that  gave  me  one 
apple  with  the  brown  coat." 

"  She  ?  yes,  she'll  do ;  but  we're  going  off  the  handle, 
you  and  I.  What's  the  good  of  talking  about  the  best 
on  'em  if  Katharine  Allen  has  got  to  be  hung !  As  I 


ALL     SORTS     OF     TREASON.  261 

was  a  saying — when  you  would  go  on  about  wimmen 
folks  in  gineral,  as  if  I  cared  any  thing  about  them — as 
I  was  a  saying,  she  never  hurt  that  baby  no  more  than 
I  did.  It  went  off  and  buried  itself  up  in  the  snow — 
stealing  Katy's  shawl  to  wrap  itself  up  in,  then  took 
cold  and  went  into  a  conniption  fit  just  out  <Jf  spite. 
Them  little  sojers  are  up  to  all  sorts  of  tricks ;  don't  I 
know  'em!" 

"  I  am  sure  it  died  of  its  own  accord,"  said  Paul. 

"  Of  course ;  anybody  but  a  squire  would  a  found 
that  out  long  ago." 

"And  she  would  be  much  glad  to  have  the  little  baby 
back  again." 

"  Wall,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Tom,  shaking 
his  head  doubtfully ;  "  Katharine  Allen's  got  some  sense, 
I  reckon  ;  squalling  must  come  unnatral  in  that  ar  house 
— now  I  leave  it  to  you." 

"  But  they  will  hang  her  dead." 

"No  doubt  about  it." 

"  Or  burn  her  poor  petite  hand." 

"  Both  on  'em,  for  all  what  I  know,  without  you  and 
I  stand  up  to  the  rack  like  men,  and  tell  the  laws,  and 
squires,  and  constables  to  go  to  old  scratch." 

"  What  is  old  scratch  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  just  know;  but  he's  a  feller  that's 
always  about  times  like  this." 

"  But  hadn't  we  better  let  the  laws,  and  the  squires, 
and  all  the  rest  alone,  and  try  very  much  to  help  her?" 
suggested  Paul. 

"  In  course  we  had  ;  I  only  threw  them  in  sort  of  pro- 
miscuous. Now  I'll  tell  you  what  my  idee  is :  Katharine 
is  getting  stronger  every  day,  you  know." 

"  Yes,"  said  Paul ;  "  she  sat  up  in  a  chair  this  morn- 


262  ALL     SORTS     OF     TKEASON. 

ing,  and  eat  very  little  dejeuner — breakfast,  I  mean— 
and  the  man — that  great  big  man  that  sits  on  the  hearth 
always — said  she  was  getting  much  strong,  and  the  win- 
dow is  too  near  the  ground — not  safe." 

"  Did  he  say  that  ?"  inquired  Tom,  breathlessly. 

"  Yes ;  the  man  said  that.  Then  madame — that  is  the 
old  mother — she  look  frightened  very  much,  and  said,  no 
take  the  poor  sick  child  away  too  soon.  Then  the  man 
said  up-stairs  was  best — high  from  ground,  very  sure." 

"  That's  bad,"  muttered  Tom.  "  Ladders  are  scarce 
and  heavy  to  lift." 

"So,"  continued  Paul,  "they  move  my  bed  into 
another  room,  and  take  up  many  things  for  her,  because 
the  man  thinks  it  sure." 

"Well,"  cried  Tom,  coming  out  in  force,  '"what 
can't  be  cured  must  be  endured,'  as  par  says.  There 
may  be  a  ladder  about  Mrs.  Allen's  premises.  To-mor- 
row morning,  when  I  come  after  you,  we'll  just  take  a 
survey  there.  About  that  cuffy  friend  of  yourn,  I  want 
to  have  some  talk  with  him.  When  there's  ladders  to  be 
used,  I'm  afraid  you  and  I  couldn't  come  quite  up  to 
the  scratch." 

"  But  Jube,  Jube  he  come  right  up  to  old  scratch  for 
.us — very  strong  Jube — very  brave,  like  lion." 

"  You're  sartin  that  cuffy  would  do  it ;  that  he 
wouldn't  slump  through  ?" 

"  What,  Jube  ?  oh,  yes,  he  do  any  thing  I  say ;  very 
good  Jube,  never  slump." 

"  Well,  then,  we're  a  hull  team,  you  and  I  and  the 
nigger.  Yes,  and  a  hoss  to  let.  If  we  don't  get  Katy 
Allen  out  of  that  end  window,  I  don't  know  what's 
what ;  but,  then,  what  are  we  to  do  with  her  when  that's 
done  ?" 


ALL     SORTS     OF     TREASON.  263 

Paul  shook  his  head  in  sudden  despondencj. 

"  Oh,  dear,  where  can  we  go  ?" 

Tom  folded  his  arms  and  drooped  his  head.  Here 
was  a  difficulty  which  he  hadn't  thought  of  before. 

All  at  once  Paul  brightened  up. 

"  We  will  take  her  to  New  York.  If  David  Rice  is 
there  he'll  be  very  good,  and  so  glad  Jube  and  we  did 
it  for  his  sister." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Tom,  "  That's  a  genuine  idee.  I'll  hook 
par's  yaller  wagon  and  drive  down  to  the  sloop  atween 
two  days,  they'll  never  think  of  searching  aboard  a 
sloop.  But  oh,  golly,  golly,  here's  a  fix.  It  takes 
money  to  travel  in  that  ere  genteel  way,  and  I  haint  got 
more'n  a  ninepence  on  earth." 

"  Money  ?"  cried  Paul,  eagerly.  "  What  you  call  gold 
with  the  king's  head  on  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  gold,  never  saw  none  of  that  ere 
money.  What  I  mean  is  silver  with  a  spread-eagle  on 
one  side  and  a  woman's  head  on  t'other." 

"  I  am  sure  that  gold  is  money,"  said  Paul,  recover- 
ing from  his  first  look  of  disappointment,  "for  Jube 
gave  it  to  the  people  as  we  came  along,  and  they  gave 
him  back  silver  like  that  you  speak  of,  more  pieces  than 
the  gold,  oh  very  much." 

"  And  how  much  have  3rou  got  ?" 

Paul  put  his  delicate  hands  together. 

"  So  much  full,  three,  four,  five  times." 

Tom  emitted  a  low  whistle.  "  Oh,  golly,  that's  up  to 
chalk,  and  you're  sartin  the  tavern  keepers  and  cap- 
tains gave  you  silver  money  for  it  ?" 

"  Sure  I  saw." 

"  And  Jube  will  shell  out — no  mistake  about  that,  ha  ?" 

"Jube  what?" 


264  ALL     SORTS     OF     TREASON. 

"  '11  hand  over,"  persisted  Tom,  counting  imaginary 
gold  into  Ms  palm. 

"  What,  give  the  money  ?" 

"Yes;  chink!" 

"Oh,  yes — sure." 

"  Then  we're  sot  up  in  business.  Three  stont  fellers, 
saddles  lying  about  loose  in  some  bam  or  other,  yaller 
wagon  standing  ready,  harness  chucked  under  the  seat, 
horses  whinnering  to  be  druv,  and  that  ere  poor  gal 
ready  to  jump  out  of  the  window  when  we  say  the  word. 
Now,  Paul,  this  is  just  what  you  must  do.  Get  the 
nigger — I  mean  our  friend  Jube — for  when  a  darkey  has 
his  double  hands  full  of  chink  to  do  as  he  pleases  with, 
he's  got  a  right  to  be  treated  like  folks,  for  that  makes 
him  an  individual ;  get  him  ready  to  toe  the  mark  when 
we  give  the  word.  Jest  tell  her  that  Tom — she  knows 
me — is  on  hand,  and  working  for  her  like  sixty,  and 
just  the  minute  she's  well  enough  to  cut,  we'll  have  her 
out  of  that  winder.  Then  you  sleep  with  one  eye  open, 
and  tell  me  every  word  that  officer  says." 

"  Yes,"  said  Paul,  "  I'll  do  every  thing ;  but  hadn't  we 
better  say  something  to  madam  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean  Mrs.  Allen  ?"  answered  Tom,  dropping 
his  chin  into  the  hollow  of  one  hand,  in  a  thoughtful 
way.  "  No ;  I  should  rather  say  not.  She's  got  strict 
notions  about  things,  and  might  put  the  wrong  spoke 
into  our  wheel.  Now,  if  I  was  going  to  tell  anybody,  it 
would  be  the  doctor ;  he's  clear  grit,  he  is,  and  wouldn't 
stop  us  if  we  run  through  his  own  home  lot  with  that 
ere  gal.  Ketch  him  telling." 

By  this  time  the  boys  were  chilled  through  with  stand- 
ing in  the  wet  and  cold.  Tom's  teeth  chattered  in  his 
head  as  he  uttered  this  encomium  on  the  doctor,  who 


MRS.   MASON     AT     II  E  R     STUDIES.        265 

was  the  most  popular  person  among  the  juveniles  in  all 
the  neighborhood,  and  Paul  shivered  in  his  garments 
like  a  tropical  bird  brought  into  the  midst  of  a  foreign 
winter.  Besides,  the  boys  had  conquered  the  brook, 
which  was  storming  its  way  to  the  river  over  a  pile  of 
stones  and  rubbish,  which  he  triumphantly  pronounced 
the  finest  dam  that  had  ever  been  built  on  this  side  of 
creation;  and  Tom,  though  a  philosopher,  philanthro- 
pist, and  hero,  loved  fun  above  all.  So  away  he  started, 
shouting  hurrah,  and  made  a  rush  clear  through  the  tur- 
bulent waters  of  the  brook,  just  to  let  the  boys  know 
that  he  hadn't  been  shirking ;  but  amid  all  the  noise 
and  fun,  he  resolved  to  be  faithful  to  his  young  con- 
federate, and  only  hold  council  with  the  true-hearted 
negro. 

As  Paul  went  toiling  up  the  hill  that  day,  he  saw 
Jube  coming  toward  him — a  circumstance  that  often 
happened  on  his  way  from  school.  How  his  beautiful 
face  kindled  up  at  the  sight  of  his  friend.  His  pace 
quickened,  and  the  trouble  went  out  from  his  eyes  as  he 
held  out  the  little,  cold  hand,  in  its  wet  mitten,  for  Jube 
to  lead  him  home,  as  usual. 

Jube  drew  off  the  mitten,  and  took  the  chilled  hand 
in  his  broad  palm,  caressing  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  bird. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

MKS.    MASON  AT   HER   STUDIES. 

SEVERAL  months  had  passed  since  the  arrival  of  Mrs. 
Mason  at  the  minister's  house,  in  Bays  Hollow. 


266        MBS.   MASON     AT     HER     STUDIES. 

During  that  time  she  had  not  been  idle.  When  she 
placed  herself  under  the  quiet  lady's  instruction,  she  had 
announced  that  she  wished  to  make  all  the  progress 
possible  and  turn  every  moment  to  account — truly,  she 
had  done  so. 

Had  the  woman  kept  some  good  design  in  view, 
the  assiduity  with  which  she  labored  would  have  done 
her  honor — as  it  was,  vanity  took  the  place  of  any  bet- 
ter motive  and  perhaps  was  the  strongest  incentive 
which  a  nature  like  hers  could  have  felt. 

The  facility  with  which  she  gained  a  knowledge  of 
things  astonished  the  minister's  wife,  whose  education 
was  thorough  and  solid,  yet  Mrs.  Mason  made  far 
more  show  with  her  little  accomplishments  than  her  in- 
structress could  with  all  her  learning.  She  had  an  ex- 
cellent verbal  memory,  was  quick  to  seize  every  move- 
ment or  expression,  and  as  Mrs.  Prior  was  a  true  lady 
she  could  not  have  had  a  better  model. 

Among  the  gifts  with  which  Thrasher  had  presented 
Mrs.  Mason,  there  were  many  articles  of  which  she  did 
not  know  the  use  or  even  the  name,  but  nobody  would 
ever  have  dreamed  it — she  gained  the  knowledge  so 
adroitly  from  Mrs.  Prior,  that  the  little  woman  had 
an  unpleasant  feeling  that  the  wealthy  Southerner  con- 
sidered her  very  ignorant,  and  desired  to  enlighten  her. 

She  did  wonders  in  her  French  lessons — she  promised 
to  make  a  showy,  dasMng  performer  upon  the  piano, 
and  her  quick  ear  taught  her  speedily  to  regulate  any 
little  inaccuracies  of  speech  by  the  correct,  although 
sometimes  formal  language,  of  her  companion. 

Yet  she  carried  it  all  off  with  so  lofty  an  air,  that  her 
teacher  often  felt  that  she  was  the  only  person  in- 
structed. She  corrected  herself  with  so  much  assurance 


MRS.   MASON     AT     HER     STUDIES.       267 

and  dignity  that  Mrs.  Prior  would  color  modestly, 
almost  inclined  to  believe  that  it  was  she  who  had  been 
guilty  of  false  syntax,  and  that  the  stately  lady  opposite 
had  set  her  right  with  good-natured  insolence. 

In  the'box  of  books  which  Thrasher  sent  Mrs.  Mason, 
there  were  a  large  number  of  novels,  principally  French, 
and  those  she  read  with  great  avidity,  although  there 
were  many,  after  she  began  to  read  the  language  with 
ease,  which  she  did  not  think  proper  to  display  to  the 
criticism  of  her  hostess. 

The  little  parlor  had  assumed  quite  a  different  aspect 
since  the  introduction  of  the  piano  and  various  articles 
of  furniture  which  Mrs.  Mason  ordered  from  New  York. 
Her  own  rooms  were  furnished  with  a  degree  of  ele- 
gance she  had  never  seen  equaled,  yet  from  her  manner 
one  would  have  thought  she  only  endured  their  meagre- 
ness  with  the  condescension  of  one  accustomed  to  a 
very  different  state  of  affairs. 

Little  Rose  grew  prettier  every  day,  and  made  her- 
self happy,  as  was  natural  at  her  age.  She  became  a 
great  favorite  with  Mrs.  Prior,  and  even  with  the 
dreary  clergyman.  But  beyond  a  certain  point,  Mrs. 
Mason  would  not  permit  any  intimac}7  to  extend.  She 
was  jealous  of  Rose's  affection  for  the  worthy  pair,  as 
she  would  have  been  at  the  idea  of  sharing  love  with 
any  one. 

Neither  the  minister  nor  his  wife  were  able  to  under- 
stand the  character  of  their  inmate,  but  they  felt  a  sort 
of  repulsion  in  regard  to  her  which  it  was  impossible 
to  overcome,  although  they  reproached  themselves  as 
if  they  had  been  guilty  of  a  deadly  sin,  but  after  all 
their  struggles  they  sunk  back  into  the  same  unpleasant 
state  of  mind. 


268       MBS.   MASON     AT     HER     STUDIES. 

The  minister  really  felt  uneasy  while  going  through 
family  worship  in  her  presence  ;  not  that  she  appeared 
irreverent,  on  the  contrary,  she  was  as  strict  in  her  per- 
formance of  such  duties  as  the  rest  of  the  house,  but 
she  acted  all  the  while  as  if  she  were  doing  a  great  favor 
to  all  concerned,  even  to  the  Being  to  whom  she  prayed. 

Mrs.  Prior  knew  very  well  that  her  pupil  had  not  al- 
ways been  in  possession  of  the  wealth  which  was  evi- 
dently then  under  her  control ;  yet,  as  weeks  wore  on, 
and  Mrs.  Mason  grew  more  stylish  and  elegant,  the  little 
woman  almost  began  to  think  that  her  first  impressions 
had  been  false  and  impertinent ;  that,  on  the  whole, 
the  lady  had  no  need  of  instruction,  and  only  gave  her- 
self to  study  from  the  whim  of  the  moment. 

Every  little  graceful,  lady-like  way,  every  pretty  habit 
of  voice  or  manner  which  the  minister's  wife  possessed, 
did  Mrs.  Mason  assume,  only  she  carried  it  off  in  such  a 
showy  manner  that  it  appeared  an  original  grace  of  her 
own,  and  which  Mrs.  Prior  was  imitating  in  a  modest 
fashion  and  with  indifferent  success.  In  fact,  it  really 
seemed  more  as  if  the  minister's  wife  were  a  sort  of 
humble  pattern  of  her  dashing  companion  than  as  if 
Mrs.  Mason  had  ever  gained  a  hint  from  her. 

One  day  the  household  was  thrown  into  a  gentle  sort 
of  confusion  by  the  arrival  of  a  visitor  for  Mrs.  Mason. 
He  was  an  elegant  and  handsome  man  as  Mrs.  Prior 
could  have  desired  to  see ;  but  she  shrunk  instinctively 
from  him  as  she  had  always  done  from  her  guest. 

The  minister's  wife  left  this  strange  man  in  the  little 
parlor,  and  went  up  to  tell  Mrs.  Mason  that  some  one 
desired  to  see  her. 

"  Who,  if  you  please  ?"  the  lady  asked,  negligently 
turning  from  her  book,  as  if  troops  of  visitors  had  been 


MRS.    MASON     AT     HER     STUDIES.      269 

an  every-day  occurrence  in  her  life,  and  were  rather  a 
bore  than  otherwise. 

"  Mr.  Thrasher,"  replied  the  little  person,  still  in  a 
flutter. 

"  I  will  be  down  presently,"  was  the  answer ;  but  still 
Mrs.  Mason  did  not  rise  from  her  seat,  or  lift  her  eyes 
from  the  book  upon  which  they  had  again  fallen. 

The  door  closed  behind  the  bewildered  lady;  then 
Mrs.  Mason  sprang  from  her  seat  and  began  a  hasty,  but 
careful  toilet. 

At  the  beginning  of  her  residence  in  that  house,  Mrs. 
Mason  would  have  obscured  and  vulgarized  her  beauty 
by  dress  and  ornaments  unsuitable  to  the  hour  or  place. 
Mrs.  Prior's  remarks  and  her  own  observations  had 
already  made  her  much  wiser. 

When  she  turned  from  the  glass,  there  was  an  expres- 
sion of  triumph  upon  her  face  which  plainly  betrayed  a 
consciousness  of  her  own  surpassing  beauty. 

She  went  down-stairs,  opened  the  door  of  the  room 
where  Thrasher  sat,  and  glided  in  as  self-possessed  and 
elegant  as  any  city  belle  of  three  seasons,  and  a  more 
dashingly  beautiful  woman  you  would  not  find  in  a  day's 
journey. 

He  started  forward  to  meet  her,  his  face  flushed  and 
lighted  up  with  excitement. 

He  caught  Mrs.  Mason's  hand  between  both  his  own 
and  faltered  out  an  almost  timid  greeting,  very  unlike 
the  usual  boldness  of  his  manner. 

"Are  you  well  ?"  he  asked.  "  Have  you  been  well  and 
contented  ?" 

"A  fine  question,  truly !"  she  replied,  putting  aside 
his  eagerness  with  a  sort  of  unconcern  very  well  as- 
sumed, and  which  evidently  displeased  and  pained  him. 


270      MRS.   MASON     AT     HER     STUDIES. 

"As  if  any  one  could  be  contented  shut  up  in  a  bird- 
cage." 

"  Have  you  been  anxious  to  go  away  ?"  he  questioned, 
as  if  hoping  to  derive  some  comfort  from  her  answer. 

"  I  have  not  thought  much  about  it ;  I  find  one  thing 
which  pleases  me  greatly." 

"And  that  ?" 

"  Nobody  interferes  with  me ;  I  can  do  just  what  I 
like." 

He  frowned,  although  he  appeared  more  troubled  than 
annoyed. 

"  Good  gracious !"  she  exclaimed,  with  an  affected 
laugh.  "  What  a  face  of  greeting  for  a  man  to  wear — 
one  might  think  you  were  a  jailor,  come  to  announce 
that  the  day  of  my  execution  was  at  hand." 

He  dropped  her  wrist  and  turned  away;  she  sank 
negligently  into  a  chair,  in  the  very  attitude  she  had 
admired  in  a  picture  of  some  forgotten  French  mar- 
chioness, which  embellished  one  of  her  favorite  novels. 

"  I  did  not  expect  a  welcome  like  this,"  he  said,  bit- 
terly. 

Mrs.  Mason  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  of  sur- 
prise which  an  actress  might  have  envied,  and  laughed 
again,  not  the  hearty,  ringing  merriment  of  old  time, 
but  a  low,  subdued  sound,  which  did  her  infinite  credit 

"  In  what  have  I  been  amiss  ?"  she  asked,  coolly. 

"  I  thought,  at  least,  you  would  be  glad  to  see  me." 

"  Oh,  did  you  ?  Upon  my  word,  the  vanity  of  man- 
kind is  beyond  all  belief!  Certainly,  I  am  glad  to  see 
you" — he  brightened  at  that — "quite  so,"  she  added, 
with  such  carelessness  that  he  looked  more  anno}-cd 
than  before. 

"  This  is  abominable !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Ellen,  I  would 
not  have  believed  that  you  could  treat  me  so." 


MRS.   MASON     AT     HER     STUDIES.      271 

"  Have  you  come  here  to  lecture  and  find  fault  ?"  she 
asked,  gajdy.  "Are  you  sure  that  you  have  not  made  a 
mistake — wasn't  it  -Rose  you  wished  to  scold  ?" 

"  I  did  not  come  to  find  fault,  Ellen.  For  weeks  I 
have  been  crazy  to  see  you ;  nothing  but  your  express 
commands  kept  me  away ;  at  last  you  wrote  that  I  might 
come ;  I  hurried  here,  and  now  you  are  as  cold  and  dis- 
tant as  if  I  were  a  stranger." 

"  Poor  boy,  poor  boy !" 

She  patted  the  hand  which  he  had  laid  upon  the  arm 
of  her  chair,  very  much  as  if  it  had  been  a  pet  lapdog. 

Thrasher  looked  at  her,  overpowered  by  astonishment. 
Where  had  she  learned  those  arts — that  playful  manner  ? 
He  had  desired  her  to  educate  and  improve  herself  in 
every  way ;  but  here  was  a  change  beyond  any  thing  he 
could  have  expected. 

"How  handsome  you  have  grown," he  said,  suddenly. 

"  You  might  as  well  tell  me  at  once  that  I  was  a  plain 
person  before." 

"  You  know  I  always  thought  you  handsomer  than 
any  woman  I  had  ever  seen ;  but  you  are  really  beautiful 
now." 

Mrs.  Mason  smiled ;  her  insatiable  vanity  was  grati- 
fied by  his  words  and  the  glance  of  admiration  that  en- 
forced them. 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  Rose  ?"  she  asked 

"  Certainly ;  very  much." 


272      SETTLING     THE     WEDDING     DAY. 

CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

SETTLING   THE   WEDDING   DAY. 

MRS.  MASON  stepped  into  the  hall,  and  called  the  little 
girl,  who  came  bounding  gayly  in ;  but  when  she  saw 
Thrasher,  an  expression  of  dislike,  beyond  her  years, 
crossed  her  face,  and  she  clung  to  her  mother's  side,  as 
if  for  protection. 

"  Won't  you  come  and  speak  to  me,  Rose  ?"  he  asked. 

.Rose  only  clung  closer  to  her  mother,  and  hid  her 
head  in  her  dress. 

"  Go  and  speak  to  Mr.  Thrasher,  child,"  said  Mrs. 
Mason.  "  How  foolish  you  are." 

"  Come,  Rose,  and  see  what  I  ha^ve  got  for  you,"  he 
added ;  "  such  a  pretty  present." 

"I  don't  want  any  present,"  replied  the  child,  her 
voice  sounding  smothered  and  choked. 

Thrasher  looked  so  much  displeased,  that  Mrs.  Mason 
angrily  commanded  the  little  girl  to  go  and  shake  hands 
with  him,  though  all  the  while  she  had  an  evident  enjoy- 
ment of  his  discomfiture. 

"  Do  as  I  bid  you,  Rose,  or  I  will  shut  you  up  for  the 
day.  Go,  I  am  very  angry  with  you." 

Thus  commanded,  the  child  raised  her  head,  and 
walked  slowly  toward  Thrasher,  still  keeping  her  face 
averted. 

He  took  her  hand,  spoke  pleasantly,  and  tried  to  kiss 
her,  but  that  she  would  by  no  means  permit. 

"Are  you  sorry  I  have  come,  Rose  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  honestly. 


SETTLING     THE     WEDDING     DAY.      273 

"And  you  wont  kiss  me  ?" 

"  No ;  you  can  get  me  whipped  if  you  want  to,  but  it 
wont  do  any  good.  I  wont  kiss  anybody  but  my  own 
pa  when  he  comes." 

"  Rose,  Rose !"  expostulated  her  mother,  losing  a 
little  of  her  bright  color. 

"  Obedience  does  not  appear  to  be  one  of  her  virtues," 
Thrasher  said,  smiling  even  through  his  agitation. 

"  I  never  saw  her  behave  so  before,"  replied  Mrs. 
Mason ;  "  she  is  generally  very  tractable.  Go  out  of  the 
room,  Rose,  and  don't  speak  to  me  again  to-day." 

The  child  broke  away  from  Thrasher,  and  ran  out  of 
the  room  with  a  loud  burst  of  sobs,  leaving  them  both 
disconcerted. 

"  You  should  not  have  allowed  her  to  dislike  me  so, 
Ellen,"  he  said,  after  an  instant. 

"  Dear  me,  I  cannot  control  the  child's  fancies.  Do 
you  think  the  whole  world  must  be  in  love  with  you  ?" 

"  I  should  be  satisfied  if  I  only  felt  certain  that  you 
cared  for  me,"  repl^d  Thrasher,  earnestly. 
She  rose  and  gave  him  a  look  of  coquettish  defiance. 
"Where  are  you  going  ?"  he  asked. 
"  To  call  Mrs.  Prior." 
"  What  for,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 
"  To  bring  you  back  to  your  senses,  of  course." 
"  You  will  drive  me  out  of  them !"  he  exclaimed,  catch* 
ing  her  hand.     "  Do  listen  to  me,  Ellen." 
"  Yes ;  well — I  am  listening." 

"  Tell  me  that  you  love  me — even  yet  I  cannot  feel 
certain — you  are  so  restless,  so  capricious. " 
"  Certainly  I  had  better  call  Mrs.  Prior." 
"Hang  Mrs.  Prior." 
11 


SETTLING     THE     WEDDING     DAY. 

"  That  would  be  very  cruel ;  besides,  I  should  lose  my 
French  teacher." 

"  Let  us  start  for  Paris.  You  can  finish  your  studies 
there." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  am  quite  comfortable  where  I  am.  I 
believe  I  am  afraid  of  the  water." 

"  You  1  the  bravest  woman  I  ever  met !" 

"  But  I  have  reason  to  dread  the  sea." 

This  time  there  was  no  affectation  in  the  shudder  with 
which  she  broke  off — her  husband's  memory  for  a 
moment  pierced  even  her  vanity  and  egotism  like  a 
blow.  Thrasher  grew  pale  with  jealousy  and  a  thousand 
feelings  more  painful  still. 

"  Let  us  think  only  of  the  future,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?"  she  asked,  forcing  those  sad 
thoughts  aside,  and  becoming  gay  .  and  selfish  once 
more. 

"Why  should  we  wait  for  its  happiness?"  he  con- 
tinued. "  I  am  rich,  far  richer  than  you  guess.  We 
are  both  young.  Marry  me  at  oqpe,  Ellen,  and  let  us 
go  away  in  search  of  pleasure  and  new  scenes." 

"  N"ot  yet,"  she  answered.     "  I  cannot." 

"Why  should  we  wait  ?" 

"  I  will  not  be  married  until  the  year  is  up,"  she  re- 
plied, more  seriously. 

"You  will  die  in  this  stupid  place." 

"I  am  used  to  quiet." 

"  But  now  you  have  had  a  glimpse  of  another  life ;  you 
know  what  money  can  do  for  you ;  your  books  have 
told  you  what  a  delightful  life  we  might  lead  in  France 
or  Italy." 

"  That  may  be,  but " 

"  What  ?  You  torment  me  on  ptirpose  to  enjoy  my 
distress  1  What  were  you  going  to  say  ?" 


SETTLING     THE     WEDDING     DAY.      275 

"  I  am  not  certain  that  I  had  better  make  any  change 
in  my  life." 

"Not  make  any  change!  Do  you  mean  to  treat  me 
as  if  I  were  a  child  ?" 

"  What  a  look  !  A  reasonable  woman  would  certainly 
hesitate  about  placing  herself  in  the  power  of  a  man 
with  such  a  dreadful  temper." 

"  You  need  have  no  fear  on  that  score,"  he  replied, 
subduing  his  passion.  "  Nowhere  in  the  world,  Ellen, 
could  you  find  a  man  so  devoted  and  patient  as  I  would 
be.  Remember  how  long  I  have  loved  you " 

"Now  you  are  reminding  me  of  my  age." 

"You  are  not  old  enough  yet  to  dislike  thinking 
of  it." 

"Well,  what  were  you  saying?" 

Thrasher  returned,  and  stood  directly  before  her. 

"Ellen,"  he  said,  firmly;  "  I  will  not  be  trifled  with — 
I  must  have  an  answer." 

She  looked  up  a  little  startled,  thinking,  perhaps,  she 
had  carried  her  coqudlry  too  far,  but  when  she  saw  how 
troubled  he  looked,  ho\v  his  eyes  sunk  under  her  own, 
she  became  certain  again  of  her  own  power  over  him, 
and  with  that  security  a  desire  to  tease  came  back. 

"  I  am  not  your  slave,"  she  replied  ;  "  how  dare  you 
address  me  in  that  tone  ?" 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  offend  you." 

"  But  you  have  offended  me  seriously ;  if  yon  only 
came  here  to  play  the  tyrant,  I  would  advise  you  to  re- 
turn at  once." 

It  took  many  moments  to  make  his  peace,  not  that 
she  was  in  the  slightest  degree  offended,  but  to  a  woman 
of  her  character  there  is  always  great  pleasure  in  the 
exercise  of  authority,  no  matter  how  petty  it  may  be. 


276      SETTLING     THE     WEDDING     DAY. 

"  Then  you  will  not  promise  to  set  my  mind  at  rest  ?" 
he  asked,  after  a  short  period  of  more  serious  conver- 
sation. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  do  not  see  why  you  should  be  otherwise  than  at 
rest  now." 

"  You  know  I  am  not,  Ellen ;  you  know  that  I  cannot 
be.  At  least  name  some  period  when  my  suspense  shall 
end." 

"Not  now;  the  next  time  you  come,  perhaps." 

She  could  not  bear  to  relinquish  the  pleasure  of  tor- 
tur.ng  him.  Her  own  heart  was  so  little  touched  that 
she  could  have  no  pity  for  his  troubles ;  indeed,  it  seemed 
somewhat  to  appease  the  few  reproaches  which  haunted 
her,  in  spite  of  her  vanity  and  selfishness,  to  occasion 
him  uneasiness  and  pain. 

"  When  I  come  a  second  time  you  will  put  me  off  with 
some  new  pretext,"  he  said,  angrily. 

"  Then  you  cannot  take  my  word  ?  Yery  well ;  if  you 
will  not  believe  me,  what  can  I  dorf" 

"I  have  never  doubted  you,  Ellen." 

"  Indeed  you  have  had  no  reason  to  think  about  it 
either  way,"  she  replied,  carelessly;  "we  were  nothing 
to  each  other  more  than  common  acquaintances." 

"  You  know  that  I  have  loved  you  for  years — that  I 
have  given  up  my  home,  my  profession — have  endured 
and  suffered  every  thing  on  your  account." 

"  I  would  not  give  much  for  affection  which  would  be 
unwilling  to  do  that  much,"  she  retorted. 

"  I  was  willing,"  he  said  ;  "but  at  least  now,  let  there 
be  an  end  to  all  this — tell  me  when  you  will  become 
my  wife  ?" 

"When  I  am  accomplished  enough  to  set  up  for  a 
lady." 


SETTLING     THE     WEDDING     DAY.      277 

"  That  you  were  always." 

"He  used  to  call  me  so,"  she  replied,  with  a  shade  of 
sadness. 

Thrasher  turned  pale. 

"Don't  speak  of  him  in  my  presence,  Ellen;  it  is 
cruel." 

"  To  his  memory,  yes,"  she  answered,  with  real  bitter- 
ness in  her  voice. 

Thrasher  sat  down  irritated  and  pale.  "  Ellen,"  he 
said,  "  it  would  be  far  better  if  you  would  consent  to 
take  a  voyage  and  be  married  at  once  in  France  or 
Italy.  I  am  restless  in  this  country — it  is  hard  to 
breathe  the  same  air  with  one's  parents — and  such 
parents,  Ellen,  without  sometimes  wishing  to  see  them." 

"  I  thought  you  wished  to  give  them  up  as  I  was 
willing  to  put  away  all  the  friends  who  had  been  kind 
to  me,"  answered  the  heartless  woman.  "  How  else 
could  you  or  I  hope  to  enjoy  our  new  life  ?  Besides,  it 
was  your  own  proposal ;  I  never  asked  you  to  sacrifice 
the  old  folks — merely  said  something  of  how  much  out 
of  place  they  might  DO,  and  how  provoking  their  ways 
would  become  in  a  house  like  that  we  were  building  in 
the  clouds." 

"  In  reality,  Ellen,  the  house  I  talked  of  shall  be 
nothing  to  the  palace  I  am  building  for  my  queen." 

Mrs.  Mason's  eyes  flashed  triumphantly. 

"  I  am  half  tempted,"  she  said. 

"  Ah,  my  love,  be  wholly  tempted  !"  he  pleaded,  with 
genuine  tenderness  in  his  voice.  "No  woman  ever 
was  worshipped  as  you  shall  be." 

"Ah,  but  one  gets  tired  of  worship." 

"No  queen  upon  her  throne  shall  have  more  ad- 
mirers " 


278       SETTLING     THE     WEDDING     DAY. 

"  But  you'll  be  jealous  as  a  Turk.    I  am  sure  of  that." 

"  Try  me,  but  do  not  put  me  off  in  this  cruel  fashion.'' 

"Well,  Thrasher,"  she  said,  seriously  enough,  "get 
every  thing  ready,  and  I'll  take  the  time  into  considera- 
tion; but  one  thing  is  positive,  we  must  be  married 
here,  in  this  country,  in  this  State  of  Connecticut.  I 
will  have  no  question  or  mistake  about  that.  The  laws 
of  other  States,  and  particularly  of  other  countries, 
may  be  different,  but  I  know  what  they  are  here." 

"  I  would  rather  be  married  abroad,  Ellen,"  was  the 
agitated  reply,  "  for  many  reasons." 

"  But  I  will  be  married  in  the  State  of  Connecticut, 
or  not  at  all." 

Thrasher  bent  his  head,  and  the  woman  saw,  with 
astonishment,  that  all  the  color  left  his  face.  It  scarcely 
excited  her  suspicion,  but  the  wanton  cruelty  of  her 
nature  came  back,  and  she  gave  a  little,  mocking  laugh. 

"  Perhaps  you  are  afraid  that  our  pretty  Katy  may 
hear  of  it,  and  put  in  a  protest  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  woman  ?"%ied  Thrasher,  start- 
ing to  his  feet. 

The  widow  drew  herself  up  in  magnificent  displeasure 

"Woman,  indeed." 

Thrasher  sat  down,  with  his  eyes  fixed  keenly  on  her. 

"What  did  you  mean,  Ellen?"  he  said,  more  quietly. 

"  What  did  I  mean  ?  When  you  can  look  and  talk 
like  a  gentleman,  perhaps  I  may  admit  that  there  was 
no  meaning  at  all  in  what  I  said,  only  that  girl  was  dead 
in  love  with  you,  Thrasher,  or  I  don't  know  what  love 
is." 

"  We  will  let  her  alone,  if  you  please,"  he  answered, 
with  a  manner  that  checked  her  flippancy.  "  The  poor 
girl  is  nothing  to  us." 


SETTLING     THE     WEDDING     DAY. 

"  I  should  hope  not,"  replied  the  widow,  with  a  dis- 
dainful motion  of  her  head.  "  In  my  poorest  days  I 
was  always  above  that  sort  of  people ;  and  remember, 
Thrasher,  when  we  are  married — if  I  ever  could  make 
up  my  mind  to  it,  you  know — these  old  neighbors  must 
be  kept  at  a  distance." 

"Have  I  not  promised?  Is  it  not  decided  that  we 
go  by  my  Christian  name  after  that  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember  something  was  said  about  it.  A 
good  idea.  That  will  be  cutting  them  off  root  and 
branch,  old  folks  and  all ;  besides,  Mrs.  Nelson  has  a 
refined  sound." 

Thrasher  sighed  heavily. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  " we  shall  be  alone  in  the  world  then, 
you  and  I." 

"  But  we  shall  go  out  of  our  old  world  and  find  a  new 
one,"  she  answered,  proudly.  "  Millionaires  are  never 
alone." 

"  How  worldly  you  are  getting !  But  it  becomes 
you." 

"  Worldly  ?  No,  only  wise  !  But  we  are  staying  here 
a  long  time ;  Mrs.  Prior  will  wonder  what  it  is  all  for, 
and  Rose  will  cry  her  eyes  out,  poor  thing." 

"  You  wish  me  to  go  ?"  he  said,  in  a  mortified  tone. 

"  Why,  yes ;  one  must  not  risk  a  good  name  among 
strangers.  It  is  something  a  little  unusual  for  me  to 
receive  gentlemen." 

"  I  am  glad  of  that,  Ellen." 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  desire  for  visitors  of  either  sex." 

"But  when  may  I  come  for  good?  I  must  know 
that." 

"  Well,  I  cannot  tell  the  exact  time,  but  it  shall  be 
within  a  few  months ;  weeks,  perhaps,  if  you  are  good." 


280  A     DOUBLE     GUARD. 

"  Then  it  shall  be.  You  promise  that  ?"  he  said,  kind- 
ling with  delight. 

"Yes,  Thrasher,  I  promise  now.  Only  give  me  time," 
and  she  held  out  her  hand,  he  kissed  it,  and  went  away. 


CHAPTER    XXXYIII. 

A  DOUBLE   GUARD. 

IT  was  true  the  officer  had  insisted  that  Katharine 
should  be  removed  to  one  of  the  upper  chambers.  She 
was  gradually  recovering  strength,  and  though  he  had 
not  the  heart  to  propose  her  removal  to  prison,  the  dan- 
gers of  escape  became  more  apparent  each  hour.  At 
last  he  suggested  the  only  means  of  safety  that  pre- 
sented itself — Katharine  must  be  confined  in  the  upper 
story,  from  whence  flight  would* be  difficult,  unless 
assistance  should  come  from  without,  a  thing  that  he 
considered  more  than  improbable. 

Mrs.  Allen  made  no  resistance  to  these  arrangements, 
for  well  the  poor  mother  knew  that  all  protest  would  be 
in  vain.  In  some  respects  she  preferred  the  change.  It 
would  remove  Katharine  from  the  sight  of  her  jailor 
whenever  the  door  of  her  room  was  opened  ;  a  presence 
that  had  become  unspeakably  oppressive  of  late.  She 
seemed  afraid  of  understanding  what  it  meant,  but 
every  time  his  face  passed  by,  or  his  shadow  appeared 
on  the  wall,  a  terror  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  would 
look  wistfully  out,  as  you  have  seen  a  poor  little  rabbit 
peering  with  his  great  brown  eyes  through  the  trap 


A     DOUBLE     GUARD.  281 

some  cruel  boy  had  baited  for  him  when  the  snow 
covered  all  other  food. 

Mrs.  Allen  had  seen  this  with  an  aching  heart.  The 
man  who  usurped  her  own  high-backed  chair,  with  his 
feet  stretched  out  stolidly  on  the  hearth,  watching  the 
door  of  her  child's  room,  had  become  a  torment  to  her, 
patient  and  undemonstrative  as  she  was.  So  the  room 
was  prepared,  and  in  gentle  silence  Katharine  took 
possession  of  it.  She  had  no  courage  to  question  her 
mother,  but  shrunk  with  sensitive  pain  from  the  truth, 
harassed  with  fears,  yet  dreading  to  have  them  con- 
firmed. 

The  mother,  too,  shrunk  from  the  subject,  which  was 
forever  lying  cold  at  her  heart.  What  good  would  it 
do  were  she  to  place  all  the  hideous  danger  before  her 
child  ?  The  law  would  strike  hard  enough  when  its 
time  came ;  she  had  no  heart  to  help  it  by  a  word. 

They  were  very  silent  together,  those  two  wretched 
women,  for — with  the  one  subject  that  filled  their  exist- 
ence held  in  abeyance — what  could  they  talk  about  ? 
But  the  mother  grew  so  gentle,  so  exquisitely  loving, 
that  some  gleams  of  joy  broke  through  their  misery ; 
still,  the  tenderness  of  this  affection  almost  broke  her 
child's  heart.  It  was  the  offshoot  of  a  great  sorrow, 
which  had  softened  the  stern  character  of  the  mother, 
and  lifted  the  young  girl  into  sudden  womanhood.  The 
hour  of  maternity,  be  it  in  joy  or  grief,  breaks  down  all 
the  barriers  of  age,  and,  as  in  this  case,  the  extremes 
of  womanhood  meet  with  some  degree  of  equality. 

But  a  painful  apprehension  was  always  at  Katharine's 
heart.  No  one  told  her  the  terrible  fate  of  which  that 
man,  sitting  forever  on  her  mother's  hearth,  was  the  har- 
binger, but  the  the  truth  pressed  vaguely  upon  her  un- 


282  A    DOUBLE     GUARD. 

derstanding,  and  her  solitude  was  a  perpetual  terror. 
She  grew  keen  in  her  observation.  She  searched  even 
the  mournful  eyes  of  little  Paul  and  the  grieved  features 
of  Jube,  in  her  silent  quest  after  the  knowledge  she 
had  no  courage  to  claim  in  words. 

Now  two  men  kept  guard  in  the  room  below.  Their 
prisoner  was  getting  strong,  and  more  vigilance  became 
advisable. 

The  night  that  this  double  guard  was  set  upon  her, 
Katharine  could  not  sleep,  for  the  two  men  conversed  in 
low  voices  that  penetrated  to  her  chamber,  and  tortured 
every  nerve  in  her  body.  What  evil  things  were  they 
saying  in  those  muffled  tones  ?  Perhaps  talking  about 
her  babe  ?  What  would  they  do  with  her  in  the  end  ? 

Dark  ideas  of  the  terrible  truth  came  slowly  over  her. 
She  was  seized  with  an  uncontrollable  wish  to  hear  what 
it  was  that  kept  her  jailors  in  such  close  conversation. 

Shivering  with  dread,  yet  filled  with  a  sort  of  wild 
courage,  she  arose  and  crept  from  her  room  down-stairs. 
A  door  opened  from  the  stairway  into  the  kitchen — it 
was  left  slightly  ajar — and  through  the  crevice  came  a 
gleam  of  light  from  a  candle  that  stood  on  the  mantle- 
piece.  Katharine  sunk  down  on  the  lowest  step  and 
listened  keenly. 

"Yes,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "it's  a  settled  thing — 
they'll  take  her  off  in  the  morning.  Tough,  though, 
aint  it." 

"  Does  the  old  woman  know  it?" 

"  I  reckon  not ;  the  constable  says  he  can't  find  the 
heart  to  tell  her  till  the  last  minute." 

"  What  will  they  do  with  her  in  the  end  ?  Have  you 
any  idea  ?" 

"  Well,  law's  law,  you  know,  and  I  calculate  the3r'll 
hang  the  poor  critter.'-' 


A     DOUBLE     GUARD.  288 

"No!" 

"  Sartin ;  the  constable  was  saying  so  at  the  hill  store 
only  yesterday.  The  strangling,"  says  he,  "might  a 
been  got  over ;  but  that  burying  of  the  poor  little 
critter  in  the  snow  was  the  pint  that  no  lawyer  could 
ixplain." 

"  Yes ;  that  allus  stops  a  feller's  mouth  when  he  sets 
out  to  defend  her,  and  yet — " 

"  What  was  you  a  saying?" 

"And  yet  I  can't  bleave  she  really  did  it.'; 

"  It's  unnatural ;  but  facts  are  facts." 

"  Poor  critter ;  I  wonder  if  she's  told  any  thing  about 
its  father  yet.  The  feller  ought  to  be  hung  fifty  times 
where  she  had  once." 

"  I  reckon  not ;  the  old  woman  said  that  her  daughter 
was  married,  at  the  examination,  but  she  would  not  name 
the  man,  and  people  were  left  to  guess." 

"  Was  it  Nelson  Thrasher,  do  you  really  think  ? 

"  There's  no  telling,  and  maybe  it  wont  come  out  till 
court  day." 

"And  when  it  does,  what'll  the  law  do  with  him  ?" 

"  Well,  I  aint  quite  sure ;  but  suppose  it  would  be 
brought  in  preup  terus  criminus ;  that  is,  'complice 
'fore  the  act." 

"You  don't  say  so.  Then  it'll  be  a  hanging  matter 
for  him,  too  ?" 

"  Sure  as  Sunday." 

"  But  how  will  they  find  him  ?  Maybe,  Katharine 
wont  inform." 

"  Oh,  she'll  tell ;  women  always  do." 

The  poor  young  mother  behind  the  door  was  quaking 
with  fear,  and  chilled  through  and  through  with  the  cold. 
Her  teeth  chattered  so  loudly  that  she  lost  the  next  few 
words ;  hut  those  that  followed  were  horrible  enough. 


284  OUT     IN     THE     NIGHT. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  person  hung  ?"' 

"Yes ;  once." 

"Wall!" 

"  Don't  ask  me  about  it ;  the  rope  broke,  and — " 

"  Hark  I  wasn't  that  a  voice  ?" 

"No ;  it's  one  of  the  icicles  falling  from  the  eaves." 

"  It  seemed  to  come  from  the  stairs,  I  thought ;  sup- 
pose we  look." 

"  Oh,  be  still.  It's  the  ice,  I  tell  you.  Just  hand  me 
a  drink  of  that  ginger  cider.  This  talk  about  hanging 
makes  the  cold  chills  run  over  me." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  then  a  deep,  satisfied 
breath,  and  the  jingle  of  a  pewter  mug  as  it  was  set 
down  between  the  andirons. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

OUT   IN   THE   DEPTHS   OP   THE   NIGHT. 

How  she  got  to  her  room,  Katharine  never  knew  ;  but 
little  Paul  sat  with  his  back  to  the  door  which  led  from 
her  chamber  to  his,  and  heard  faint  shudderings  with 
that  icy  sound  which  had  disturbed  the  men,  for  a  long 
time  after  she  entered  the  room.  It  troubled  him  so 
much  at  last  that  he  went  into  the  outer  garret  and 
sought  Jube,  who  stood  like  a  bronze  statue  by  a  win- 
dow in  the  gable. 

"  Jube,  I'm  sure  that  she  is  up  now,  you  can  hear  her 
tremble  through  the  door." 

Jube  put  a  finger  to  his  lip,  and  lifting  Paul  in  his 


OUT     IN     THE     NIGHT.  285 

arms,  pointed  through  the  window.  The  end  of  a  ladder 
rested  against  the  sill,  and  Tom  sat  perched  on  one  of 
the  upper  rounds,  motioning  to  Jube  that  he  must  stoop 
down  and  help  him  in. 

The  moment  after  he  stood  in  a  broad  space  of  moon- 
light that  paved  the  garret,  whispering  eagerly  : 

"  I've  come  before  the  time,  I  have,  and  hain't  got  a 
sign  of  a  wagon  nor  sleigh;  for,  consarn  him,  par 
locked  the  stable  door  to-night,  the  first  time  he  ever  did 
it  in  his  life,  I'm  a'most  sartin.  But  it's  got  to  be  done. 
Them  constables  will  be  arter  her  to-morrow,  sartin. 
We'll  get  her  out  somehow  this  very  night,  and  trust  to 
luck  arterward." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  inquired  Paul,  full  of  generous 
courage.  Jube  has  got  the  gold." 

"  That's  half,"  answered  Tom,  promptly.  " Now,  Paul, 
you  go  into  the  room  and  tell  her  to  get  right  up  and 
huddle  on  all  the  furs,  and  cloaks,  and  things  that  she's 
got,  and  tell  her  to  be  still  as  twenty  mice.  Them  chaps 
below  are  as  wide  awake  as  nighthawks.  I've  been 
watching  'em  through  the  winder  since  twelve  o'clock ; 
but  they've  just  begun  to  pitch  into  the  hot  ginger  and 
cider,  and  that'll  put  'em  to  sleep,  sure." 

"  But  if  she  wont  come  ?"  said  Paul. 

"  Wont  ?  she  must,  or  stay  here  and  be  oh,  I 

can't  bear  to  think  of  it.  Now  get  along,  Paul,  and  do 
as  I  tell  you." 

Paul  went  softly  into  Katharine's  room.  She  was 
sitting  on  the  bed  in  her  long  nightgown,  cold  and  still, 
frozen,  as  it  were,  in  the  moonlight,  which  fell  over  her 
from  a  near  window. 

Paul  shrunk  back  at  first,  her  face  looked  so  deathly ; 
but  he  found  courage,  and  took  the  cold  hands  that  lay 
clasped  on  her  lap. 


286  OUT     IN     T*H  E     NIGHT. 

"What  he  said  in  those  low,  eager  whispers,  the  boy 
himself  scarcely  knew;  but  after  the  first  words  she 
bent  down,  listening  greedily.  Friends  in  the  outer 
room,  a  ladder  at  the  window,  money  to  take  her  from 
that  guarded  house,  life,  liberty,  away  from  the  terrible 
shadow  of  those  men,  clear  from  that  gaunt  horror 
which  they  talked  about  so  calmly.  Yes,  she  would  go. 
Life  was  very  sweet,  and  she  so  young.  Out  to  sea  in 
a  vessel  bound  for  a  long  voyage.  Thus,  she  would  in 
time  meet  her  husband,  whose  name  her  silence  had 
saved  from  disgrace.  She  began  to  love  herself  for  this 
thought,  and,  gathering  fresh  energy,  put  on  her  outer 
garments. 

Paul  went  into  the  garret  and  told  his  friends  that 
Katharine  was  getting  ready.  His  voice  was  raised 
imprudently,  it  penetrated  to  a  room  at  the  other  end 
of  the  garret,  and  might  have  disturbed  the  guards,  but 
their  deep  potations  at  the  warm  cider  had,  as  Tom  pre- 
dicted, thrown  them  into  a  sound  sleep. 

All  this  while  Mrs.  Allen  had  been  lying  in  the 
back  of  her  daughter's  bed  with  her  face  to  the  wall. 
The  wearying  effect  of  nights  without  sleep  and  days 
of  harassing  labor  lay  heavily  upon  her.  At  most  times 
she  was  a  sound  sleeper,  but  now  it  seemed  as  if  death 
itself  had  taken  possession  of  her  faculties.  She  knew 
nothing  of  Katharine's  absence  from  the  room — nothing 
of  Paul's  entrance,  but  the  first  cold  touch  of  the  fugi- 
tive's hand  was  enough.  The  gray  eyes  opened  wildly 
in  the  moonlight,  and  she  started  up  in  bed. 

Katharine  stood  before  her  fully  dressed,  and  with 
some  heavy  dark  garment  in  her  hand.  Mrs.  Allen 
heard  Paul  speaking  in  the  garret  outside,  and  compre- 
hended the  scene. 


OUT     IN     THE     NIGHT.  287 

"  Mother,  I  am  going.  They  want  to  kill  me ;  I  am 
innocent,  and  have  a  right  to  my  life.  I  am  going 
away,  mother." 

The  whispers  in  which  Katharine  spoke  were  broken, 
and  came  gasping  from  her  lips.  Mrs.  Allen  started 
from  the  bed  and  began  to  put  on  her  clothes. 

"  Yes,"  she  muttered,  wildly,  "  I  have  thought  of  this 
night  and  day.  One  does  not  see  a  lamb  go  to  the 
slaughter  without  a  wish  to  help  it.  The  child  of  one's 
old  age  is  better  than  a  lamb.  I  said  to  myself,  if  the 
instincts  of  innocence  lead  her  to  it,  she  shall  escape. 
She  has  forfeited  nothing — her  life  is  her  own — God 
gave  it  to  her,  and  God  will  instruct  her  how  to  keep 
it." 

Tom  opened  the  door,  and  came  into  the  room  on 
tiptoe. 

"  Hush  !  don't,  Mrs.  Allen.  We  can  hear  you  a  mut- 
tering clear  into  the  garret.  Them  men  down-stairs 
love  cider,  but  they  ain't  moles.  Just  give  'em  a 
chance,  and  they'll  be  after  us  full  split  afore  you  know 
it— hish !" 

Mrs.  Allen  did  not  speak  again,  but  took  a  heavy 
cloak  from  the  wall  and  folded  it  over  the  garments 
which  she  had  just  put  on.  She  took  Katharine's  hand 
in  her  own  firm  grasp,  and  led  her  into  the  garret.  The 
gable  window  was  open,  and  a  cold,  sharp  wind  came 
sweeping  through,  while  the  moonlight  thus  let  in  fell 
half  across  the  garret. 

Jube  was  on  the  ladder  outside,  waiting.  Paul  stood 
aside  from  the  light,  but  the  eager  fire  of  his  eyes  could 
be  seen  even  in  the  darkness.  The  mother  and  child 
were  half  way  across  the  garret,  when  Katharine  broke 
away  suddenly,  and  went  back,  her  face  uplifted,  as  if 


288  OUT     IN     THE     NIGHT. 

she  were  counting  the  rafters.  She  disappeared  in  the 
gloom,  and  her  hand  made  a  creaking  noise,  as  it 
passed  along  the  torn  shingles  projecting  themselves 
from  one  of  the  rafters.  But  she  darted  back  into  the 
moonlight  with  a  scrap  of  paper  in  her  hand,  which 
rustled  to  the  wind  like  a  dead  leaf. 

"  I  am  ready  now,  mother,"  she  whispered. 

"Histl  he!  he!" 

It  was  like  the  lowest  hiss  of  a  serpent,  the  sound 
with  which  Tom  warned  his  allies,  and  signified  that  all 
was  ready. 

Mrs.  Allen  lifted  her  daughter  in  both  arms,  held  her 
one  moment  in  a  clinging  embrace,  then  passed  her 
through  the  window,  and  leaned  out  till  Jube  stood 
with  her  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder.  After  that,  she  fol- 
lowed, while  Paul  and  Tom  crept  after,  noiselessly  as 
shadows. 

"  Come  this  way,"  said  Tom.  "  It's  a  glare  of  ice  all 
around,  but  I  scattered  ashes  along  here,  so  keep  straight 
ahead,  while  I  take  a  peep,  and  see  if  them  old  chaps 
are  sleeping  yet." 

The  little  group  drew  close  together,  and  moved 
quickly  along  the  path  which  Tom  had  made  safe  with 
wood  ashes.  Directly  that  youngster  joined  them,  chuck- 
ling to  himself,  and  rubbing  his  yarn  mittens  gleefully 
together. 

"  They're  in  for  it !  Oh,  Miss  Allen,  that  cider  of 
your'n  must  be  scrumptious  stuff.  They've  drunk  up 
the  hull  bilin  of  it,  and  there  the  great  pewter  mug  lies 
atween  'em,  upsot  on  the  harth,  a  little  gingery  stream 
a  running  and  a  hissing  from  it  into  the  fire.  There 
they  set,  each  of  'em,  with  his  legs  half  way  across  the 
harth,  and  the  toes  of  his  boot  a  sticking  up,  sliding  off 


OUT     IN     THE     NIGHT.  289 

from  them  chairs  till  their  boots  eenaraost  touch,  and 
each  on  'em  has  got  his  head  pitched  forward  and  his 
face  hid  in  his  bosom,  and  snoring  like  all  nature.  Oh, 
Paul,  I'd  a  gin  the  world  to  have  boo-hood  right  out  as 
loud  as  I  wanted  to." 

All  this  was  said  in  a  loud  whisper  that  sounded 
sharp  and  distinct  on  the  frosty  air,  but  no  one  heeded 
it.  The  two  women  hurried  forward  in  dead  silence ; 
Paul  and  Jube  went  before,  making  a  path,  for  they  had 
turned  into  the  field,  and  had  instinctively  crept  within 
the  shadow  of  the  stone  wall  which  Katharine  had 
fled  along  on  that  fearful  day.  They  were  fast  approach, 
ing  the  old  butternut  tree,  when  Katharine,  whose 
breath  had  come  quick  and  short  with  each  step,  reeled 
and  fell  back  against  the  wall. 

"  I  can't  go  this  road,"  she  gasped,  pointing  to  the 
butternut  tree,  which  flung  its  gaunt  skeleton  shadow 
far  out  on  the  snow.  "  Take  me  any  road  but  this." 

Tom,  who  had  been  running  along  in  the  moonlight, 
came  up,  speaking  for  the  first  time  in  his  full  voice. 

"  That's  right ;  we  may  as  well  stop  and  make  up  our 
minds  what  to  do  next,  as  Robinson  Crusoe  did  when 
he  reached  that  ere  uninhabited  island ;  for  the  old 
soger  warn't  much  wuss  off  than  we  are,  I  reckon, 
'specially  now  that  we've  got  another  woman  'tached 
onto  the  consarn." 

"  She's  ill,  the  poor  mademoiselle,"  whispered  Paul. 

"  No,  no — we  havn't  time  for  that  ere ;  tell  her  she 
mustn't  think  of  it." 

"  Mother,"  whispered  Katharine,  "take  me  away  I  It 
seems  as  if  my  ghost  had  been  here  before." 

Mrs.  Allen  drew  close  to  her  child  and  tried  to  shelter 
IS 


290  OUT     IN     THE     NIGHT. 

her  alike  from  the  cold  and  a  sight  of  that  gaunt  old 
tree.* 

"  What  shall  we  do  next  ?"  inquired  Tom,  feeling  the 
•want  of  some  efficient  counsellor.  "  Miss  Allen,  as 
you've  kinder  broke  into  this  ere  concern  without  asking, 
I  give  up  being  leader,  'specially  not  knowing  what  on 
'arth  to  do.  I've  sot  her  free,  and  that's  glory  enough 
for  one  little  feller,  so  now  I  throw  up  and  consign." 

Mrs.  Allen  gathered  Katharine  closer  in  her  arms, 
and  looking  in  the  boy's  face,  strove  to  comprehend  the 
position  in  which  they  were  placed. 

"  Tell  me  what  it  was  you  hoped  to  do  for  my  daugh- 
ter," she  said,  gently.  "  I  know  nothing  more  than  that 
she  was  ready  to  escape,  and  I  followed.  The  idea  was 
in  my  dreams,  and  we  are  here.  Was  there  any  place 
you  had  in  view  where  she  could  be  safe  ?" 

"Yes,  marm,  there  was,"  answered  Tom.  "Jube  and 
Paul  can  tell  you  all  about  it.  We  got  it  up  together, 
us  three.  I  meant  to  have  brought  par's  boss  and 
wagon,  but  the  old  man  locked  'em  up.  Besides,  we 
did  not  mean  to  go  into  it  till  to-morrow  night,  only  the 
constable  let  out  as  he'd  take  her  off  in  the  morning,  so 
we  had  to  come  right  up  to  the  rack,  ready  or  not ;  and 
now  we  are  free  and  independent.  But  where  to  go  ? 
that  ere  is  the  question." 

Mrs.  Allen  uttered  a  low  groan  ;  the  frail  form  in  her 
arms  grew  heavier  and  heavier.  The  desperate  course 
they  had  taken  presented  itself  to  her  mind  in  all  its 
hopelessness. 

"  Oh,  my  God,  must  I  take  her  back  ?"  she  moaned, 
lifting  her  face  to  heaven. 

"Has  madame  no  friends — no  house  where  made- 
moiselle could  hide  one  little  day  ?"  said  Paul.  "  Jube 


OUT     IN     THE     NIGHT.  291 

has  gold,  great  deal  of  gold,  that  people  in  this  country 
like  very  much.  People  that  have  much  gold  can  run 
away — Tom  says  that — oh,  very  far.  We  will  take 
mademoiselle  to  Monsieur  Rice ;  he  ve^  strong,  like 
Jube  ;  nobody  touch  him — never  dare." 

"Yes,  marm,"  struck  in  Tom.  "  The  sloop  which  goes 
out  of  New  Haven  twice  a  week,  sails  Saturday.  Jube's 
got  lots  and  lots  of  chink.  Just  send  him  to  Dave 
Rice  ;  he's  the  fellow  to  tell  the  constable  what's  what 
— he  is." 

Mrs.  Allen  gathered  in  the  whole  plot,  and  her  clear 
judgment  saw  at  once  that  it  was  the  only  means  of 
escape  left  for  her  child.  The  attempt,  which  had 
seemed  a  moment  before  so  rash,  took  consistency  and 
wisdom  in  her  mind.  God  himself  seemed  to  have  pro- 
vided the  means  of  escape  for  her  child. 

"  Well,  now,  what  do  you  think  it's  best  to  do  ?"  asked 
Tom,  flattered  by  her  grave  attention.  "  You  are  the 
gineral  now;  I'm  only  a  soger." 

"  May  the  God  of  heaven  bless  you,  my  brave  boy," 
said  the  mother,  with  deep  feeling. 

Tom  hastily  wiped  the  cuff  of  his  jacket  across  his 
eyes. 

"  Don't,  Miss  Allen ;  don't  say  that  ere ;  'cause,  you 
know,  I  was  kinder  diserbaying  my  parents,  and  I'm 
afeared  he'll  remember  to  set  one  agin  t'other,  and  I 
might  git  the  worst  of  it." 

Mrs.  Allen  looked  around  along  the  dreary  road. 

"  Is  there  no  one  of  all  our  neighbors  who  would  shel- 
ter us  for  one  night  ?"  she  cried. 

"  Mother,"  said  Katharine,  struggling  from  her  arms 
and  trying  to  stand  up,  "  his  father.  I  will  go  to  him. 
It  was  his  wish.  I  will  go  to  his  home.  Where  else 
should  a  wife  ask  shelter?" 


292  OUT     IN     THE     NIGHT. 

Mrs.  Allen  drew  a  heavy  breath. 

"  Come,  mother,  come." 

"Where  is  it  you  have  an  idea  of  going?"  inquired 
Tom,  forgetting  that  he  had  resigned  all  command  of 
the  party,  and  was  only  a  "soger." 

"  Up  yonder,"  answered  Mrs.  Allen ;  "  we  will  ask 
them  to  hide  us  for  one  night,  in  the  barn,  or  anywhere." 

"  Us  ?  you  say  us  ?"  persisted  Tom,  shaking  his  head. 
"  Now  I'm  only  a  soger,  you  know,  Mrs.  Allen,  but  if  I 
had  the  lead  yet,  I'd  jest  observe  that  one  is  easier  hid 
than  two.  If  them  fellers  get  up,  and  find  the  house 
empty,  they'll  search  like  blazes,  and  the  fust  thing  after 
daylight ;  but  if  you're  there  to  get  'em  a  warm  break- 
fast, and  Jube's  on  hand  to  pile  on  the  wood,  they'd 
kinder  be  content,  and  not  ask  about  anybody  else 
mebby  till  noon." 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  mother.  "Let  me  know 
that  she  is  safe  and  I  will  go  home  again.  My  child', 
can  you  walk  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  No,  no  ;  she  trembles.  Let  Jube  carry  her — he  is 
so  strong,"  said  Paul. 

Jube  came  forward  with  his  brawny  arms  extended. 
Mrs.  Allen  gave  up  her  child,  and  she  was  carried  away 
so  swiftly  that  the  boys  were  compelled  to  run  in  order 
to  keep  up  with  the  negro,  but  Mrs.  Allen  walked  close 
to  him,  never  faltering  or  pausing  to  draw  breath  till 
the  whole  group  stood  in  front  of  Mr.  Thrasher's 
house. 

Jube  sat  Katharine  quietly  down  upon  the  snow, 
where  she  stood  gazing  wistfully  toward  the  house,  till 
her  mother  reminded  her  that  there  was  no  time  to 
spare. 


TAKEN     IN     FROM     THE     COLD.        203 

"  Leave  me,"  said  the  poor  creature,  "leave  me  here, 
mother.  I  would  rather  go  in  alone — quite  alone — it 
will  be  easier." 

Mrs.  Allen  hesitated,  but  Tom  came  up  with  one  of 
his  clinching  arguments. 

"It's  nigh  on  to  morning,  Mrs.  Allen,  and  we  are 
only  doing  her  hurt.  If  she  goes  in  alone  they  wont 
have  the  heart  to  send  her  off,  but  if  we  all  stand  here 
ready  to  go  farther,  they'd  tell  us  to  keep  on  just  as 
like  as  not.-" 

"He  is  right,  mother,"  said  Katharine,  faintly. 
"  Give  me  one  kiss — God  will  help  me — have  no  fear." 

The  old  woman  pressed  her  cold  lips  to  that  still 
colder  face,  and  went  away,  looking  mournfully  behind, 
from  time  to  time,  until  a  bend  of  the  road  took  her 
out  of  si^ht. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

TAKEN   IN   FROM    THE   COLD. 

THE  old  couple  were  in  bed,  but  not  sleeping.  Since 
the  return  of  their  son,  weary,  broken  nights  and 
most  anxious  days  had  marked  the  lives  of  these  blame- 
less people.  It  had  been  very  hard  to  part  with  their 
son  when  he  almost  seemed  domesticated  with  them. 
It  had  been  hard  to  expect  him  back,  day  after  day, 
and  al\va3rs  with  keen  disappointment  following  the 
morning's  hope.  But  more  bitter  than  all  was  the  news 
that  had  reached  them  within  the  last  few  days.  Nel- 
son had  sailed  again — sailed  on  a  long  voyage  into  those 


294:    TAKEN  IN  FKOM  THE  COLD. 

seas  which  take  the  youth  out  of  a    man  before   he 
returns. 

How  could  they  help  being  wakeful  ?  Were  they  not 
worse  than  childless  ?  Of  the  grave  they  knew  some- 
thing— its  length,  its  depth,  and  how  long  it  required 
for  the  green  turf  to  spring  up  and  draw  the  uncouth 
mound  back  into  the  loving  bosom  of  nature.  But 
what  did  they  know  of  those  far  off  waters  where  ships 
were  lost  in  immensity,  and  fishes  of  monstrous  size 
tempted  men  away  from  their  homes.  A  whaling  voy- 
age— that  was  like  a  life  banishment  to  an  old  couple 
who  had  so  many  gray  hairs  on  their  temples. 
!  They  could  not  sleep,  though  each  kind  heart  strove 
to  cheat  the  other — both  were  wakeful  and  miserably 
anxious. 

"  Father  ?" 

The  old  man  would  not  speak,  but  drew  a  long, 
heavy  breath,  which  smothered  a  sigh,  while  it  was  in- 
tended to  deceive  the  good  soul  into  a  belief  of  his 
sound  slumber. 

"  Father,  I  say  ?" 

Still  he  would  not  answer,  for  the  poor  mother  had 
got  a  habit  of  keeping  herself  awake  with  midnight 
conversations  in  these  days,  and  he  was  determined  to 
put  it  down  with  masterly  inactivity. 

"  Dear  old  man,  I'm  glad  he  can  sleep  so  sound,"  she 
murmured,  rising  softly  to  her  elbow  and  putting  the 
gray  locks  back  from  his  forehead,  which  she  kissed  with 
infinite  tenderness.  "  It's  a  shame  to  wake  him  up." 

The  old  man  turned  softly,  and  said  with  inward  con- 
trition, "  I  am  awake,  wife." 

"  Father,  I  think  there's  some  one  knocking  at  the 
window." 


TAKEN     IN     FROM     THE     COLD.         295 

The  old  man  lifted  his  head,  and  listened. 

"  Mrs.  Thrasher !  oh,  Mrs.  Thrasher,  wont  you  let  me 
in?" 

There  was  a  moan  of  anguish  in  the  words  that  struck 
to  the  heart  at  once.  The  •Id  man  held  his  breath, 
while  the  wife  clung  to  him  with  her  head  lifted  from 
the  pillow. 

"  It's  her,  it's  Katy  Allen,"  she  whispered. 

The  old  man  slipped  out  of  bed  and  hurried  on  his 
clothes.  She,  good  soul,  followed  him,  groping  for  her 
dress  in  the  dark,  but  another  faint  knock  on  the  glass, 
and  a  mournful  voice  crying,  "  Wont  you  let  me  in  ? 
I'm  freezing  1  I'm  freezing,"  sent  her  to  the  window  in 
nothing  but  her  long  night  gown  and  cap,  with  its 
double  borders  shading  a  very  pale  and  startled  face. 

Mrs.  Thrasher  lifted  the  sash  and  looked  out.  A 
dark  figure  sat  crouching  on  the  snow  where  it  had  just 
fallen  after  losing  its  hold  on  the  window  sill. 

"  Katharine,  Katharine  Allen,  is  it  you?" 

The  figure  struggled  to  its  feet,  and  clinging  to  the 
window-frame  with  one  hand,  put  the  other  through  the 
opening,  where  it  touched  Mrs.  Thrasher  on  the  bosom. 
A  lump  of  snow  could  not  have  chilled  her  more  com- 
pletely, but  nothing  cold  had  power  to  reach  that  kind 
heart.  She  lifted  her  plump  little  hands  and  folded  the 
trembling  fingers  to  her  bosom  tenderly  as  if  some 
stray  bird  had  fluttered  there.  Then  the  sharp  wind 
swept  over  them  both,  and  dropping  the  hand  with  a 
caress,  the  woman  said,  kindly : 

"  Go  round  to  the  door,  Katharine.  Father  is  unbolt- 
ing it  now." 

Katharine  turned  away.  Mrs.  Thrasher  closed  the 
window,  and  hurrying  on  a  garment  or  two,  went  into 


296        TAKEN     IN     FROM     THE     COLD. 

the  next  room,  where  the  embers  of  a  noble  hickory  wood 
fire  lay  smouldering  under  a  bed  of  ashes.  While  she 
was  raking  out  "the  fire  Mr.  Thrasher  came  in,  treading 
softly  in  his  stocking  feet,  and  with  the  suspenders  he 
had  forgotten  to  button*  trailing  to  the  floor  behind 
him.  From  the  darkness  beyond  came  Katharine  Allen  ; 
her  hood  was  pushed  back,  and  sparkles  of  ipe  shone  in 
her  hair  as  the  ruddy  light  from  two  brands  thrown 
hastily  together  flashed  over  her.  She  had  been  crying, 
but  the  tears  had  frozen  to  pearls  on  her  cheeks,  and 
filled  her  eyelashes  with  delicate  frostiness. 

She  entered  the  room  and  sat  down  in  Mrs.  Thrasher's 
chair,  looking  wistfully  at  the  old  woman,  and  begging 
pardon  with  her  eyes  as  she  touched  the  blue  and  red 
patchwork  cushion,  which,  in  those  days,  was  sacred  to 
the  mistress  of  a  New  England  home. 

"I  am  very  cold,"  she  said,  with  a  wan  smile;  "it 
chilled  me  through  standing  by  the  gate  so  long." 

"  Poor  child,"  said  Mrs.  Thrasher,  gathering  the  stray 
brands  together  with  a  pair  of  heavy  tongs.  "  Father, 
just  hand  in  a  stick  or  two  of  wood  from  the  entry  way. 
There,  now,  set  up  close  to  the  andirons.  Never  mind 
us,  we're  not  a-cold." 

Katharine  drew  close  to  the  fire,  and  held  out  her 
hands,  that  trembled  and  fluttered  to  the  heat  like  half 
perished  birds. 

"I  ran  away,"  she  said,  piteously;  "crept  out  of  the 
garret  window,  and  came  off  here.  They  want  to  kill 
me,  you  know." 

The  old  people  looked  at  each  other  and  turned  away, 
with  their  faces  in  shadow. 

"  You'll  not  be  afraid  to  hide  me  a  little  while  ?"  she 
questioned,  anxiously. 


TAKEN     IN     FROM     THE     COLD.        297 

The  old  lady  bent  over  her,  with  tears  in  her  soft  eyes. 

"Afraid,  dear?  no;  we're  not  afraid,  are  we,  father?" 
she  said,  lovingly. 

A  noise  outside  startled  Katharine ;  she  sprang  up 
and  fixed  her  wild  eyes  on  the  window. 

"  They've  seen  the  light — they're  after  me." 

"  It's  only  an  icicle  dropping  from  the  eaves,"  said 
the  old  lady,  smiling.  "  There  isn't  a  soul  near  but 
father  and  I,  Katharine,  dear,  and  you  aint  going  to  be 
afraid  of  us  ?" 

Katharine  looked  at  her  lingeringly  and  sat  down 
again. 

"  No ;  I'm  not  afraid  of  you.  He  told  me  to  come, 
and  not  fear  any  thing." 

Mrs.  Thrasher  drew  close  to  the  girl  and  bent  over  her. 

"  He,  dear ;  tell  us,  father  and  I,  you  know,  who  it  is 
you  mean  by  he  ?" 

Katharine  looked  up,  and  a  strange  light  came  to  her 
face ;  it  was  as  if  a  pearl  had  been  suddenly  illuminated 
at  the  heart. 

"  It  was  Nelson  who  told  me  to  come,"  she  said,  in  a 
tender  voice. 

"  Nelson  Thrasher — our  son  ?"  interposed  the  old  man, 
almost  sternly. 

Katharine  shrank  together  in  her  chair,  and  looked  at 
him  with  a  frightened  glance. 

"  Did  I  say  Nelson?"  she  questioned,  faintly.  "  Not 
if  it  makes  you  angry  with  him." 

The  old  man  rose  from  his  chair,  and  stood  up  in  the 
fire  light. 

"  Katharine,  he  said,  "  tell  us  the  truth — was  it  our 
son  who  brought  this  shame  and  trouble  on  you  ?" 

The  words  were  stern.     The  old  man  trembled  in  all 


298      THE     MARRIAGE     CERTIFICATE. 

his  lirnbs,  but  still  there  was  strength  both  in  his  look 
and  utterance. 

"  Shame,  no ;  it  is  not  shame  for  him — you  might  be 
sure  of  me  there,"  she  said,  with  pathetic  simplicity.  "  I 
never  mentioned  him,  and  never  will.  So  don't  speak 
of  shame  and  Nelson  in  one  breath.  The  disgrace  is 
mine,  you  know ;  and  the  sorrow,  he  shall  never  hear  of 
it — never." 

The  old  lady  looked  imploringly  at  her  husband,  and 
shrank  back  into  the  shadows  of  the  room,  wringing  her 
hands. 

"And  this  is  my  son !  He  brings  ruin  on  an  innocent, 
thoughtless  girl,  and  then  abandons  her  for  years — her 
and  his  parents." 

"  Ruin !  No,  not  that  1"  cried  Katharine.  "  Shame  ! 
No !  no  I  It  is  I  that  somehow  have  brought  disgrace 
on  him !  Only  I  never  told  his  name — never  will  ask 
for  it !  Don't  be  afraid.  I  didn't  come  for  that — only 
to  beg  a  hiding-place  for  one  day.  Those  men  will  never 
know  that  I  have  any  right  to  come  here.  Let  them 
search.  If  they  tear  the  house  down,  nothing  will  be 
found  under  the  rafters.  I've  got  the  paper  here !" 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

THE   MARRIAGE   CERTIFICATE. 

SHE  pressed  one  hand  to  her  bosom,  and  smiled 
proudly,  as  if  they  ought  to  be  grateful  for  something 
she  had  done. 


THE     MARRIAGE     CERTIFICATE.      299 

"The  paper — what  paper  ?"  questioned  Mrs.  Thrasher. 

"  That  which  the  minister  gave  us.  It  is  more  than 
three  months,  and  he  told  me  not  to  wait  longer  than 
that." 

"  Let  me  read  the  paper,  girl  1" 

"Yes,"  joined  in  Mrs.  Thrasher,  coming  out  of  her 
obscurity.  "  Let  father  read  the  paper." 

"He  told  me  to  bring  it  here  after  three  months," 
said  Katharine,  looking  at  them  doubtfully ;  "  but  he 
did  not  know  how  it  would  happen.  Dreadful  things 
have  been  done  that  he  never  thought  of,  so  I  must  be 
careful.  I  am  only  a  poor  girl,  and  they  have  almost 
done  the  worst  by  me.  Nothing  can  disgrace  me  more, 
but  it  hasn't  reached  him  yet.  I  wouldn't  even  tell  the 
doctor.  Nobody  ever  saw  the  paper.  That  is  my  secret — 
the  only  thing  I  have  left.  When  they  have  killed  me  I 
will  eat  the  paper,  and  die  with  it  in  my  bosom,  be  sure 
of  that." 

"  But  you  will  tell  us — remember  he  is  our  only  child, 
and  it  is  hard  not  to  know  the  truth — hard  to  think 
badly  of  him,"  pleaded  the  mother. 

"  Badly  of  him — who  has  a  right  to  do  that  ?"  said 
Katharine,  excitedly.  "  You  ought  to  know  better.  But 
you  are  only  his  mother,  not  his — " 

"His  what,  dear?" 

Katharine  shook  her  head,  and  bent  her  eyes  on  the 
fire. 

"  If  you  have  a  paper  that  belongs  to  my  son,  let  me 
read  it,  girl.  I  have  a  right,"  pursued  the  old  man. 

"  Eight — when  you  can  think  badly  of  him  ?  I  never 
could  do  that ;  but  he  told  me  to  come  here  and  ask  shel- 
ter, not  knowing  how  much  I  should  need  it.  I  want  to 
obey  him — want  to  make  you  think  well  of  him — but 
how  can  I  do  it?" 


300       THE     MARRIAGE     CERTIFICATE. 

"  Give  us  the  paper  if  that  will  tell  us  the  truth  about 
our  son,"  answered  the  old  man,  firmly. 

"  But  you  might  use  it  to  disgrace  his  name." 

"  We  are  his  parents,  girl." 

"  But  you  suspect  him,  what  of?" 

"  Of  wronging  you — we  have  suspected  him  of  this  1" 

"  Yes,  Katharine,  father  couldn't  help  it,  you  know. 
It  broke  his  heart,  but  he — that  is,  we  couldn't  clear 
Nelson  in  our  minds.  If  you  can  only  help  us,  dear  !" 

Katharine  bent  toward  the  fire,  clasping  both  hands 
around  her  knees,  and  muttering  to  herself,  "  It  would 
be  worse  than  death  to  think  ill  of  him.  They  have  a 
right." 

She  drew  back  slowly,  and  turned  to  the  old  man. 

"Promise  me  something,  Mr.  Thrasher." 

"  I  will  promise  any  thing  that  will  be  for  your  good." 

"  Promise  never  to  let  any  human  being  know  what  is 
in  this  paper,  and  I'll  show  it  to  you." 

"  We  are  his  parents,  and  are  not  likely  to  tell  any 
thing  that  would  disgrace  our  son." 

"  Promise  her,  father ;  no  matter  what  it  is,  promise  !" 
pleaded  the  mother,  creeping  round  to  her  husband's 
side. 

The  old  man  hesitated.  Katharine  bent  slowly  toward 
the  fire  again. 

"  Promise,"  whispered  the  mother.  "  If  our  son  is 
wrong,  we  shall  never  have  the  heart  to  speak  of  it.  If 
he  is  innocent,  no  one  but  his  owu  parents  have  had  the 
cruelty  to  suspect  him." 

"  I  never  thought  wrong  of  him,  never  in  my  life," 
murmured  Katharine,  gazing  into  the  fire ;  "  that  would 
kill  me  before  those  dark  men  had  a  chance." 

"  Well,  girl,  what  promise  shall  I  make  ?"  questioned 


THE     MARRIAGE     CERTIFICATE.       801 

the  old  man,  who  had  been  listening  to  his  wife  with 
serious  attention. 

"  Only  that  you  will  never  mention  the  paper,  nor 
what  I  tell  you,  till  Nelson  comes  back." 

"Well,  I  promise  that." 

"Yes  ;  we  promise,"  repeated  the  mother. 

Katharine  took  a  scrap  of  paper  from  her  bosom,  un- 
folded it  with  a  loving  touch,  and  gave  it  to  the  old 
man.  There  was  no  candle  in  the  room,  but  his  specta- 
cles lay  on  the  closed  Bible,  where  he  had  left  them  on 
going  to  bed.  He  put  them  on,  and  knelt  down  by  the 
fire,  from  which  his  wife  forced  a  shower  of  sparks  with 
the  tongs.  As  the  old  man  read  the  paper,  she  bent 
over  him,  and  when  his  head  fell  forward  and  buried 
itself  in  his  hands,  her  sobs  mingled  with  the  broken 
thanks  that  sprang  from  the  father's  heart. 

At  last  he  arose  to  his  feet,  and  looked  at  his  wife, 
who  crept  into  his  arms,  and  laying  her  withered  cheek 
on  his  bosom,  whispered : 

"  Remember,  husband,  I  told  you  so.  Told  you  from 
the  first,  either  that  it  was  not  true,  or  that  she  was  our 
daughter." 

As  the  sweet  words  fell  from  her  lips,  the  good  woman 
looked  on  the  girl  with  a  countenance  so  heavenly,  that 
Katharine  smiled  under  it,  and  for  a  moment  forgot 
what  a  wretched  fugitive  she  was. 

"Now,"  said  the  old  man,  seating  himself,  and  stoop- 
ing toward  their  midnight  guest ;  "  now  that  our  son  is 
cleared  from  this  great  guilt,  tell  us — for  remember  you 
are  our  child — tell  us  about  this  terrible  thing  they 
accuse  you  of." 

Katharine  turned  cold  and  white,  then  she  lifted  her 
sweet  young  face,  and  with  her  eyes  turned  clearly  to 


302        THE     MARRIAGE     CERTIFICATE. 

his,  told  him  all  that  she  knew,  word  for  word,  feeling 
for  feeling ;  and  from  the  depths  of  her  true  heart  he 
saw  how  innocent  she  was. 

The  old  woman  listened  with  him,  but  her  gentle 
heart  gave  way  long  before  Katharine  had  done  her 
story ;  when  it  was  finished  she  gathered  the  poor  girl 
in  her  arms  and  wept  over  her. 

"What  can  we  do?  How  help  her?"  she  said,  ad- 
dressing the  old  man.  "  The  law  is  like  a  hound — it 
will  take  her  anywhere ;  and  she  is  our  child — our  in- 
nocent, innocent  daughter." 

Katharine  clung  to  the  woman,  as  she  uttered  these 
words,  and  began  to  cry.  It  was  sweet  to  be  so  trusted 
and  cared  for  in  the  midst  of  her  desolation. 

"  Where  can  we  put  her?     What  can  we  do,  father?" 

There  was  no  answer — the  old  man  sat  looking  at  her 
very  sadly  and  with  deep  thoughtfulness. 

"  Let  us  first  ask  what  the  good  God  intends  in  all 
this.  He  does  not  lead  the  young  into  peril,  or  the  in- 
nocent into  shame  for  nothing.  It  is  a  fearful  risk,  but 
let  us  do  right." 

Katharine  looked  on  him  in  affright,  her  eyes  growing 
wildly  large,  her  lips  falling  apart,  till  the  white  teeth 
shone  through. 

"  You  will  not  give  me  up  ?  They  will  kill  me  !  Oh, 
father,  they  will  kill  me  1" 

She  had  called  him  father  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  and  the  word  came  forth  in  a  cry  of  anguish  that 
made  even  his  strong  heart  shrink. 

"No,"-he  said,  gently.  "Not  for  all  the  gold  of 
Ophir  would  I  do  this  thing." 

Katharine  drew  a  long  breath.  The  old  woman 
folded  her  in  a  closer  embrace,  and  softly  whispered  : 


THE     MARRIAGE     CERTIFICATE.        303 

That  she  must  have  no  fear — God  always  guarded 
the  innocent. 

And  so  they  rested  a  little  while  in  silence.  The  old 
man  buried  in  thought.  The  women  watching  him  with 
anxious  faces. 

"  I  will  take  her  to  his  chamber,"  said  the  mother,  at 
last,  "  the  blinds  are  down  and  we  can  find  the  way 
without  light." 

Mr.  Thrasher  said  nothing,  but  regarded  the  fugitive 
in  grave  sadness. 

"  Stay  with  her  till  morning,"  he  said  ;  "  she  has  left 
her  mother  behind,  poor  woman." 

Katharine  arose  and  went  up  to  the  old  man. 

"You  are  his  father  and  believe  me,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  Katharine,  I  believe  you — I  will  give  all  that  I 
have  to  prove  how  innocent  you  are — I  will  mortgage 
the  farm  to-morrow,  if  that  will  do." 

"  Only  tell  me  where  I  can  find  him.  He  will  not  let 
any  one  harm  me ;  you  know  that." 

"If  we  knew — if  we  only  knew ;  but  the  sea  is  a 
broad  desert  of  waters,  where  no  man  finds  his  fellow 
for  seeking." 

" Has  Nelson  gone  to  sea?"  faltered  the  poor  girl. 

"Yes,  Katharine,  on  a  long  voyage.  He  may  not 
come  back  for  years." 

She  stood  still,  dumb  with  pain,  and  thrills  of  awe 
ran  through  her  voice  wh'en  it  struggled  back  to  her. 

"  Who  told  me  of  this  before  ?" 

"  No  one,  my  child ;  it  came  in  a  letter,  and  we  never 
mentioned  a  word  of  it  to  a  living  soul." 

"A  letter  to  you  and  none  to  me ;  but  who  told  me,  I 
say  ?  or  when  did  I  dream  something  like  it  ?  I  wish  all 
this  was  clear.  Nelson  writes  to  you,  and  yet  I  know 


304         THE     MARRIAGE     CERTIFICATE. 

beforehand  what  news  the  letter  brings.  It  has  kept 
me  awake  nights,  but  in  the  daytime  fell  back  into 
dreams  again." 

She  stood  a  moment  with  one  hand  to  her  forehead, 
then  dropped  it,  and  said,  quickly : 

"  Let  me  read  his  letter,  may  I  ?" 

The  old  man  opened  the  great  Bible,  and  took  the 
letter  from  between  its  leaves.  She  knelt  down  upon 
the  hearth  and  read  it  through. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "it  is  true.  He  has  gone.  I  might 
search  the  world  over  and  never  find  him.  They  might 
kill  me,  and  my  husband  never  hear  of  it.  This  is  worse 
than  their  threats,  worse  than  death,  for  it  shuts  out  all 
hope.  Where  could  I  go  ?  The  world  is  so  wide,  and  I 
have  not  learned  the  way  anywhere." 

"  Oh,  if  you  could  but  stay  with  us  till  he  comes  1" 
exclaimed  the  old  lady. 

"  But  they  will  not  let  me.  To-morrow,  perhaps, 
those  men  will  come  here  and  force  you  to  give  me  up." 

"  I  never  will,  never  on  earth,"  cried  the  old  woman, 
flushing  with  the  generous  courage  that  filled  her  heart. 
"  They  shall  tear  me  all  to  pieces  first." 

The  old  man  stood  up.  The  solemn  thoughtfulness 
had  left  his  face,  and  it  was  sadly  calm,  as  if  some  pain- 
ful doubt  had  left  his  mind.  He  went  up  to  Katharine 
and  laid  both  hands  on  her  head.  She  looked  at  him 
with  her  sad  eyes,  and  almost  smiled,  his  face  was  so 
pleasant  that  it  reassured  her. 

"  You  have  thought  of  some  way  by  which  we  can 
find  him  ?"  she  said,  with  a  gush  of  gratitude  mellowing 
her  voice. 

"  No,  Katharine,  that  is  impossible.  Ships  that  have 
sailed  can  never  be  overtaken ;  but  have  you  forgotten, 


THE     MARRIAGE     CERTIFICATE.      305 

child,  that  the  guilty  alone  stand  in  need  of  flight — God 
protects  the  innocent." 

"  Oh,  he  has  abandoned  me,"  sighed  the  poor  fugitive. 
"  Some  wicked  thing  has  woven  snares  about  me  that 
look  so  like  guilt  that  even  he  turns  away." 

"  He  never  turns  away.  By-and-by,  child,  his  doings 
will  be  made  clear.  Out  of  the  depths  of  tribulation 
great  mercies  are  sometimes  wrought." 

"  You  do  not  think  it  wise  that  I  escaped  from  those 
men,"  she  faltered. 

He  pressed  one  broad  hand  lovingly  on  her  head. 
The  touch  sent  a  holy  shock  through  her  frame.  Some 
of  the  broad  courage  that  filled  his  Christian  heart 
entered  hers,  and  it  flashed  upon  her  how  cowardly  her 
flight  had  been — how  much  like  a  confession  of  guilt  it 
appeared. 

"I  have  nowhere  to  go,"  she  said,  mournfully.  "If 
I  get  away  every  one  will  think  it  was  from  a  sense  of 
guilt  that  I  left.  I  am  his  wife,  your  son's  wife,  and 
must  not  let  myself  be  unjustly  condemned.  Is  that 
what  you  mean,  father  ?" 

"  Go  to  bed,  child,  and  before  you  sleep  ask  these 
questions  of  our  Father  who  is  in  heaven.  He  will  turn 
your  heart  aright." 

She  bent  her  head  and  clung  for  a  moment  to  the 
hand  which  he  had  extended ;  a  great  pain  struggled  at 
her  heart ;  she  knew  what  his  words  portended.  Like  the 
angel  who  met  Hagar  in  her  extremity,  he  was  "about  to 
warn  her  back  to  her  bonds. 

They  parted  for  the  night,  and  Katharine  went  up  to 

Thrasher's  chamber,  led  through  the  darkness  by  the 

gentle  guidance  of  his  mother.     The  moonlight  lay  full 

in  the  room,  and  she  could  see  all  the  objects  it  con- 

19 


306      THE     MARRIAGE     CERTIFICATE. 

tained — his  bed,  the  glass  in  which  he  had  feared  to 
look,  and  the  carpet  which  his  boyish  knees  had 
pressed. 

The  old  lady  helped  her  undress,  and  after  she  lay 
down,  arranged  the  bed-clothes  and  pillows  as  she  had 
a,  thousand  times  for  her  son. 

"  Shall  I  stay  with  you,  child  ?"  she  said,  at  last, 
stooping  down  and  kissing  her  in  that  sweet,  motherly 
fashion  which  carries  protection  with  it. 

Katharine  lay  in  her  husband's  bed  overpowered  by  a 
strange  tranquillity.  Her  face  looked  out  sweetly 
through  the  moonlight,  and  both  hands  were  folded  over 
her  bosom  ;  she  had  dropped  unconsciously  into  an  at- 
titude of  prayer. 

"  Shall  I  stay  with  you,  dear  child  ?" 

"  No,  it  is  his  room,  I  am  not  afraid  ;  go  to  your  own 
bed,  mother;  in  the  morning  I  shall  be  strong." 

She  had  called  his  parents  father  and  mother  more 
than  once  that  evening ;  there  was  a  fascination  in  the 
words  that  could  not  be  conquered.  It  made  the  old 
woman's  heart  swell  to  be  so  addressed.  Her  son's  wife 
— it  was  next  to  having  him  there  in  person.  She 
kissed  Katharine  on  the  forehead,  and  went  away 
through  the  darkness,  knowing  well  that  a  violent  death 
hovered  over  that  young  head,  but  feeling  glows  of  hap- 
piness in  her  heart  all  the  time  ;  for,  like  her  husband, 
she  believed  devoutly  that  God  protects  the  innocent. 
He  does — He  does,  but  not  always  in  the  way  His 
creatures  are  presumptuous  enough  to  mark  out  for 
Him. 


THE     FIRST     STAGE     TO     PRISON.       307 

-. 
CHAPTER  XLII. 

ON   THE    FIRST    STAGE   TO   PRISON. 

"  WELL  now,  jest  tell  me  all  about  it,"  said  Tom,  hur- 
rying little  Paul  away  from  his  playmates  to  a  corner 
of  the  school-house  where  a  few  gleams  of  sunshine 
gave  some  slight  idea  of  warmth.  "  Tell  me  what  them 
chaps  did  when  they  found  out  what  we'd  been  up  to. 
Oh,  golly,  but  I'd  a  gin  the  last  four-pence  half-penny 
I've  got  to  have  seen  'em.  Didn't  they  rip  and  tear 
beautifully  ?  Didn't  they  rare  up  and  fall  over  back- 
ward ?  Oh,  yes,  I  kinder  see  'em  now  staring  at  one 
another  like  'stonished  pigs,  and  wondering  what  cute 
little  shaver  did  it.  But  you  don't  tell  me,  Paul — seem 
kind  o'  down  in  the  mouth  about  something." 

"  No,"  said  Paul,  gently,  "my  mouth  isn't  down,  but 
I  feel  sad,  very  much  for  the  poor  mademoiselle." 

"  Oh,  that  aint  nothing ;  just  let  me  get  things  put  to 
rights,  and  she'll  be  in  New  York  and  crowing  over  'em 
all.  What  do  you  shake  your  head  for  ?" 

"She  wont  go,  Tom." 

"  She  wont  go  ?" 

"  No ;  they  will  kill  her,  but  she  will  not  run  away, 
clear  off,  as  we  desire." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?" 
i     "  I  think  so,  sure." 

"  Oh,  bother,  you've  got  the  drag  on.  Now  jist  tell 
me  all  about  what  happened  up  yonder.  How  did 
them  officer  fellows  act  when  they  found  out  that  she 
was  gone  ?" 


808       THE     FIEST     STAGE     TO     PRISON". 

"  Oh,  they  found  out  nothing  at  first.  Madame,  that 
is  Mrs.  Allen,  came  down-stairs  so  softly  and  made  one 
good  breakfast,  very  nice,  and  they  sat  down,  eating 
plenty.  Madame  look  very  white,  and  her  hand  shook 
when  she  pour  coffee  into  their  cups,  but  the  men  very 
sleepy  and  never  see  that,  but  sit  so,  with  eyes  almost 
shut  and  opening  the  mouth  wide  two,  three  times, 
sleepy  a  good  deal." 

"  Wai,  I  reckon  it  warn't  for  want  of  snoring  over 
night.  My,  didn't  they  go  it  in  them  two  chairs,"  cried 
Tom,  gleefully. 

"  By-and-by  madame  began  to  wash  cups,  and  do 
work.  Then  one  man  he  say:  'Come,  supposing  we  go 
np-stairs  and  see  how  that  pretty  bird  comes  on.  The 
old  woman  don't  mean  to  give  her  any  breakfast  this 
morning,  by  her  washing  the  dishes  so  soon.' 

"  Then  madame,  she  stop  short,  so,  and  look  much 
frightened,  very  cold,  and  she  say  nothing,  only  look, 
look." 

"  Wai,  now,  I'd  a  thought  better  of  that  'ere  woman, 
she's  disappinted  me,"  said  Tom,  settling  both  hands 
in  his  pockets,  and  planting  his  feet  apart  on  the  ground. 
It's  scandless.  Wai,  now,  what  did  the  fellers  do  arter 
that?" 

"  They  go  up-stairs  and  knock  ;  one,  two,  three  times, 
very  loud,  then  great  noise  with  feet,  and  the  door  open, 
no  one  there,  bed  empty,  garret  window  open." 

"  But  no  ladder,  darn  'em — don't  say  as  I  swore  now, 
Paul,  cause  it's  a  lie.  I  didn't — Jube  and  I  took  care 
of  that  'ere  ladder  between  us.  Golly,  how  I'd  liked  to 
have  seen  'em  looking  out  of  that  'ere  window  like  two 
foxes  in  a  box  trap.  Wai,  what  did  they  do  then  ?" 

Paul  smiled  and  looked  around  to  see  that  no  one  was 
within  hearing. 


THE     FIKST     STAGE     TO     PRISON.      309 

"Well,  now  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Tom,  they  come  along 
tramp,  tramp,  on  the  floor — great  noise  and  much  talk, 
down  the  stairs — madame,  she  stand  white,  like  snow, 
but  with  her  eyes  very  sparkle.  Jube,  very  brave,  stand 
close  by  the  stairs.  Madame  say  something  quick,  then 
Jube  he  put  his  arm  through  the  iron,  so,  and  hold 
tight  the  door,  madame  go  out,  like  lightning,  and  bring 
long  piece  of  wood  from  out  door.  Then  Jube  take  his 
arm  away  and  make  bar.  Bang,  bang,  but  the  door 
no  open,  very  strong." 

Tom,  with  a  spasmodic  spreading  of  his  feet  and 
elbows,  almost  set  himself  down  into  the  snow.  "  He, 
he,  hi,  hi,  ho,  ho-o-o-o  I"  he  shouted,  rolling  about  in 
furious  glee ;  "  I  take  it  all  back  ;  that  'ere  woman  is  a 
sneezer — I  give  up — own  beat.  She  knows  a  thing  or 
two,  she  does !  Bang,  did  you  say  ?  I  reckon  it  was 
bang!  but,  oh,  she  had  'em  tight!" 

"  Very  tight.  They  kick  and  call  loud,  and  make 
great  noise,  but  madame  wash  her  dish  and  say  nothing. 
Jube  he  stand  by  the  fire  and  laugh ;  I  laugh,  too,  very 
little." 

"  Laugh !  wal,  now  I  reckon  you  did.  If  you  hadn't 
I'd  a  licked  yer  right  where  ye  stand,  if  you  be  a  fur- 
rener.  I  wonder  you  didn't  march  right  up  and  hug 
the  old  woman — I'd  a-done  it." 

"  Madame  don't  like  that ;  she  keep  on  her  work,  no 
smile,  nothing  but  work.  The  men  make  more  noise ; 
she  no  take  care,  but  work,  work." 

"  She's  a  Queen  of  Shebe,  she  is.  I  tell  you  what, 
Paul,  I'm  proud  of  that  woman.  She  ought  to  have 
been  my  marm.  Wal,  so  she  worked  on,  and  let  'em 
take  it  out  in  stomping,  didn't  she  ?" 

"  Yes  ;   she  work  all  the  time ;  not  seem  to  hear  till 


310       THE     FIRST     STAGE     TO     PRISON. 

somebody  open  the  gate,  then  she  stop,  with  the  broom 
in  her  hand  like  a  staff,  and  held  her  breath,  so." 

"What  was  that  for?" 

"  We  all  hold  our  breath,  for  under  the  heavy  step 
come  a  soft  one  like  little  child  walking.  The  door  it 
open,  and  that  man  from  next  house  come  in,  and  with 
him  mademoiselle." 

"  You  don't  say  so.  Paul,  you  furrenir,  I  dare  you  to 
say  that  over  agin.  If  you  want  a  licking,  do  it,  that's 
all !" 

"  Yes ;  it  was  the  poor,  pretty  lady,"  said  Paul, 
nothing  daunted  by  this  grand  threat.  "  She  come  in 
very  softly,  with  the  petite  bonnet  over  her  face.  She 
looked  like  one  angel.  Madame  stood  still.  She  bear  on 
her  broom  like  a  staff,  and  her  eyes  open  wide.  Made- 
moiselle, she  go  up  to  madame  and  take  her  hand. 
'  Mother,'  she  say,  '  guilty  people  run  away,  and  I  am 
not  guilty.  God  knows  it,  and  He  is  good ;  so  I  come 
back !'  Ah,  Monsieur  Tom,  it  broke  my  heart  in  pieces 
to  hear  her  speak  so  sad,  so  sweet.  I  can't  help  it,  the 
tears  will  come !" 

"Now  don't,"  said  Tom,  drawing  the  sleeve  of  his 
jacket  across  his  eyes.  "  It's  enough  to  make  a  feller 
forget  that  he's  a  man  !" 

Paul  went  on,  twinkling  the  tears  away  with  his  black 
eyelashes. 

"  So  then  she  come  home  once  more  like  a  poor  little 
bird  that  flies  round  and  round  its  nest.  Madame  said 
no  one  word,  but  took  mademoiselle's  head,  so,  between 
her  hands,  and  kissed  her  very  much,  once,  twice.  I 
never  saw  madame  do  that  till  now ;  it  made  me  sad 
very  much." 

"  Wkat  did  she  come  back  for  ?"  cried  Tom.  "  I  can't 
understand  it,  no  how." 


THE     FIRST     STAGE     TO     PEISON.      311 

"  She  took  off  her  petite  bonnet,  and  sat  down  by  the 
fire,  holding  out  her  hands.  Then  the  good  man  from 
the  house  with  trees  before  it,  very  tall,  he  speak  to 
madame  so  kind,  and  say  that  mademoiselle  is  very  right 
not  to  run  great  way  off  like  guilty  people  ;  that  the 
great  God  was  very  strong  to  take  care  of  her,  and  she 
must  not  have  too  much  fear,  but  keep  brave  heart. 
Then  madame  began  to  cry  ;  oh,  how  she  cry,  with  great 
sobs,  like  the  wind  in  trees  that  give  all  their  leaves 
away  to  winter,  she  say  '  God  help  me,  for  I  am  a 
coward ;'  and  then  she  goes  to  the  stairs  and  opens  the 
door,  and  says  to  the  men,  '  Come  down,  my  daughter 
has  not  run  away,  she  is  here.' " 

"  Then  mademoiselle  stood  up  and  say — ah,  so  sweet : 
'  Yes,  I  am  here,  do  with  me  as  you  please  ;'  and  a  smile 
was  on  her  mouth  like  the  sun  on  the  snow,  and " 

"  Don't,  I  tell  you  don't,"  cried  Tom,  stamping  furi- 
ously. "  It's  enough  to  bust  a  feller's  heart,  if  his  jacket 
was  buttoned  ever  so  tight.  She's  a  brave  gal.  You, 
and  I,  and  Jube,  may  just  hang  up  our  fiddles,  for  the 
law's  got  her  now,  tight  enough.  That  old  Thrasher 
has  done  the  business  for  her  this  time,  anyhow.  Gracious, 
what's  that  ?  Look  a  there — didn't  I  tell  you  ?" 

A  wagon  was  coming  up  the  road,  slowly  ploughing 
its  way  through  the  muddy  snow :  a  single-seated  wagon, 
with  a  rush-bottomed  chair  standing  in  front,  upon 
which  a  man  sat  conspicuously,  driving  the  horse.  In 
the  seat  behind  sat  another  man,  with  his  arm  thrown 
around  a  slender  female,  who  shrunk  away  from  his  em- 
brace, and  cast  wild  glances  toward  the  group  of  school 
children,  that  gathered  in  a  crowd  by  the  side  of  the 
road. 

"Ah,  me,  it  is  her,"  said  Paul,  turning  his  eyes  upon 
the  wagon,  and  clasping  his  hands. 


312        THE     FIRST     STAGE     TO     PRISON. 

"Yes,"  said  Tom,  and  the  great  tears  leaped  down 
his  cheeks.  "  It's  no  mistake,  them  men  are  the  keep- 
ers, and  that  is  her.  They're  taking  her  up  to  the 
Squire's.  It's  all  day  with  us,  Paul ;  she'll  never  sleep 
in  that  brown  house  agin.  Don't  shake  so,  Paul;  don't 
cry  like  a  baby ;  I  tell  you  it's  enough  to  make  a  feller 
ashamed  of  your  company  !" 

That  moment  the  wagon  came  opposite  the  place 
where  the  two  bo3's  were  standing :  the  prisoner  saw 
them,  and  leaning  forward  tried  to  smile.  Tom's  bosom 
heaved,  every  feature  in  his  face  quivered,  and  then  his 
feelings  broke  forth  in  a  burst  of  tears  that  shook  him 
from  head  to  foot. 

"  Cry,  Paul ;  cry,  if  you  want  to  !  I  wont  say  a  word 
agin  it,"  he  sobbed ;  "  if  you  and  I  was  giants,  fifty  feet 
tall,  we  needn't  be  ashamed  of  boo-hooing  right  out  at 
a  sight  like  that.  Poor  gal,  poor  gal,  she  looks  like  a 
blessed  lamb  between  two  butchers.  Never  mind,  Paul, 
cry  if  you  can't  help  it.  I'll  stand  between  you  and  the 
boys — they  know  me — by  jingo,  wasn't  that  one  of  'cm 
laughing?  I'll  maul  him,  see  if  I  don't." 

"Ah,  no,"  said  Paul,  whose  grief  had  been  far  less 
turbulent  than  that  of  his  friend,  "  they  not  under- 
stand it  as  we  do.  She  would  not  like  you  to  fight,  or 
think  of  any  thing  wrong.  Let  us  be  good,  very  much, 
and  perhaps  God  will  take  care  of  her  as  He  took  care 
of  Jube  and  me,  when  there  was  nothing  but  sky  and 
water,  very  deep,  all  around  us." 

"  Oh,  why  didn't  she  cut  when  we  got  her  off!"  cried 
Tom,  bursting  into  a  fresh  passion  of  sobs.  "  It's  like 
climbing  a  high  tree  after  a  young  bird,  and  then  seeing 
it  flip  out  of  your  hand  just  as  you  touch  ground. 
What's  the  use  of  being  a  gineral  if  your  sojers  wont 
work!  That  old  Thrasher  has  undid  us,  Paul." 


FRIENDS     IN     COUNCIL.  313 

"  Don't,  please !"  said  Paul,  listening.  "  I  can  hear 
the  wagon  yet,  and  it  seems  to  be  saying  good-by — • 
good-by.  Oh,  it  is  very  sad,  too  sad,  Mr.  Tom." 

True  enough,  the  wagon  was  out  of  hearing,  and 
Katharine  Allen  proceeded  on  her  first  stage  to  prison. 


FRIENDS   IN   COUNCIL. 

THERE  was  a  mournful  council  held  in  Mrs.  Allen's 
house  on  the  morning  after  Katharine  was  carried  away 
to  prison.  Old  Mr.  Thrasher  and  his  wife  had  gone  to 
the  widow's  residence  early  in  the  day,  in  great  humility, 
seeking  to  share  her  sorrows,  and  take  the  burthen  of 
Katharine's  defence  upon  themselves.  In  words,  they 
kept  the  promise  that  the  poor  girl  had  extofted,  and 
never  mentioned  their  son  in  connection  with  her,  but 
the  truth  broke  out  from  their  innocent  bosoms  in  evei-y 
way.  It  breathed  in  their  voices,  and  looked  kindly 
forth  from  their  eyes.  They  called  Mrs.  Allen  sister, 
and  there  was  a  tenderness  in  the  words  that  no 
common  ideas  of  brotherhood  ever  possessed.  They 
spoke  of  Katharine  as  the  dear  child  on  whom  God  had 
laid  a  heavy  hand,  but  who  had  proved  as  brave  as  she 
was  innocent. 

All  this  comforted  Mrs.  Allen.  She  had  great  faith 
in  the  justice  of  God,  and  would  not  believe  but  that 
the  truth  must  pi'evail  even  against  the  iron  rule  of  law. 
She  did  not  hesitate  to  accept  the  aid  which  Mr.  Thrasher 


314  FRIENDS     IN     COUNCIL. 

offered,  and  in  one  hour  those  three  persons  who  had 
been  so  far  apart  two  days  before  formed  one  little  com- 
munity of  grief,  and  consoled  each  other  like  members 
of  one  household. 

At  first  the  two  women  had  their  secret  misgivings, 
and,  dear  old  cowards  as  they  were,  regretted  that 
Katharine  had  even  rendered  herself  up  to  the  laws. 
Flight  seemed  to  them  the  only  sure  way  of  escaping 
the  horrors  that  threatened  her.  But  the  old  man 
silenced  these  secret  repinings  with  his  firm  Christian 
faith.  His  faith  in  divine  goodness  was  perfect ;  be- 
lieving Katharine  innocent,  he  trusted  her  to  the  laws, 
certain  that  in  some  way  her  safety  would  be  wrought 
out.  Still  he  was  not  one  of  those  men  who  indolently 
resign  every  thing  into  divine  hands  without  individual 
effort.  While  ready  to  trust,  he  was  equally  ready 
to  work  for  her  deliverance  in  any  way  that  seemed 
best. 

The  doctor  came  while  these  three  persons  were  con- 
sulting together.  A  long  ride  was  before  him  that  day, 
but  he  scouted  all  ideas  of  fatigue,  and  left  a  host  of 
patients  to  wait  while  he  rode  off  to  the  widow  Allen's 
in  pity  to  her  forlorn  condition.  Under  the  eccentrici- 
ties which  marked  this  man's  character  was  a  fund  of 
sterling  good  sense  and  shrewd  worldly  knowledge, 
both  of  which  he  brought  into  the  general  council, 
where  it  was  greatly  needed,  for  three  more  inexperi- 
enced and  single  hearted  creatures  than  he  found  in  that 
kitchen  seldom  existed,  even  in  New  England,  before 
stage-coaches  gave  way  to  railroads.  Every  face  in  the 
little  group  brightened  when  the  doctor  came  in  with 
his  iisual  quaint  joviality,  which  often  covered  more  true 
benevolence  than  people  suspected. 


FRIENDS     IN     COUNCIL.  315 

"  That's  right !  all  in  Indian  council  round  the  fire. 
Something  to  be  done ;  you're  reacVy;  to  go  at  it,  and 
I'm  here  to  help.  I  say,  Thrasher,  if  you  can't  save 
that  girl,  don't  ever  dare  to  pray  in  the  face  of  heaven 
again." 

"  It  must  be  a  greater  than  I  who  saves  her,"  an- 
swered the  old  man,  reverently;  "but  all  that  an  honest 
man  has  power  to  do  I  am  ready  for." 

"  Well,  now  give  me  a  chair,  Mrs.  Allen  ;  don't  keep 
me  standing,  it's  bad  policy ;  I  may  be  a  widower  some 
of  these  days,  can't  you  understand  that !" 

Mrs.  Allen  got  up  and  placed  a  chair  for  her  old 
friend,  who  dropped  into  it,  deposited  his  crutches  con- 
veniently, and  began  to  rub  his  hands  before  the  fire. 

"Well,  now,  to  begin  at  the  root  of  the  matter, 
Thrasher.  This  thing  wants  money." 

"  I  have  some  in  the  house  and  more  out  at  interest. 
Tell  me  how  to  use  it  best." 

"  You're  a  prime  old  chap.  A  church  full  of  such 
members  would  be  enough  to  save  the  whole  country, 
bad  as  it  is.  How  much  money  in  all,  brother  ?" 

I  am  afraid  the  word  brother  broke  into  a  slight 
sarcasm  on  the  doctor's  lips,  for  he  rather  disliked 
these  empty  titles  of  endearment,  and  was  apt  to  laugh 
at  them  a  little  in  ordinary  times.  This  one  word  had 
sprung  from  his  heart  in  spontaneous  warmth,  but  it 
was  so  strange  to  the  lips  that  they  threw  it  off  irrev- 
erently. 

Mr.  Thrasher  named  a  sum  of  money  larger  than  any 
one  could  have  believed  at  his  command. 

"  It  isn't  mine,"  he  said,  noticing  the  look  of  surprise. 
"  My  son  brought  home  all  his  profits  and  savings  the 
last  voyage,  and  told  me  to  put  them  out  at  interest, 


316  FRIENDS     IN     COUNCIL. 

and  ahvays  consider  them  as  mine  if  I  wanted  means. 
I  shall  use  this  money  now — every  cent,  if  needful  for 
her  safety  or  support." 

"  You  think  the  girl  innocent,  then?"  said  the  doctor. 

"  Innocent  as  I  am,"  answered  the  good  old  man. 

"As  a  baby,"  chimed  in  the  mild  voice  of  Mrs 
Thrasher. 

"  As  the  children  of  heaven,"  said  Mrs.  Allen,  stand- 
ing up,  and  speaking  with  all  the  authority  of  con- 
viction. 

"And  this  is  why  you  would  not  let  the  poor  thing 
run  away  ?"  inquired  the  doctor,  sharply. 

The  two  women  looked  at  each  other  guiltily.  They 
had  been  willing  enough  that  she  should  run  away.  It 
was  the  sublime  faith  of  the  old  man,  appealing  to  a 
consciousness  of  innocence  in  the  girl  herself,  that  had 
wrought  the  noble  act  of  self-abnegation,  carried  out 
in  Katharine's  return. 

As  for  the  kind-hearted  women,  to  them  Katharine's 
safety  was  the  first  thought ;  it  was  with  heavy  hearts 
that  they  had  seen  her  return  like  a  bird  to  the  snare. 

"  Innocent  or  guilty  she  was  in  the  hands  of  her 
God,"  answered  the  old  man.  "It  was  not  for  weak 
man  like  me  to  wrest  her  therefrom." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  I  shall  do  my  best  to  put  all  that 
stuff  out  of  the  lawyers'  heads,"  answered  the  doctor, 

dryly- 

The  two  women  sighed  heavily.  Mrs.  Thrasher  looked 
a  little  shocked,  and  was  troubled  with  vague  misgivings 
that  no  lawyer  of  less  strict  principle  would  be  tolerated 
by  her  husband. 

"  We  must  try  and  get  a  conscientious  lawyer,  if 
possible,"  said  the  old  man,  coloring  under  the  doctor's 
words. 


FRIENDS     IN     COUNCIL.  317 

The  doctor  took  up  his  crutches,  and  crossed  them 
angrily  before  him. 

"  Look  here,  my  old  friend,  we  must  divide  this  work, 
I  see.  You  shall  take  the  church  and  I'll  take  the  law. 
You  pray  night  and  morning,  I'll  work  morning  and 
night ;  and  if  we  don't  save  that  poor  child  in  the  end, 
why  it  wont  be  for  want  of  a  suitable  division  of  labor." 

Mr.  Thrasher  yielded  to  this,  for  he  had  the  great 
good  sense  which  gives  to  every  man  a  clear  insight  into 
his  own  capacities. 

"  I  never  had  any  thing  to  do  with  the  law  in  my  life," 
he  said,  meekly ;  "  and  for  the  whole  world  I  wouldn't 
injure  her  by  meddling  with  what  I  don't  understand. 
If  you'll  undertake  it,  doctor,  I'll " 

"Be  content  to  play  second  fiddle — that's  exactly 
what  I  am  up  to.  Leave  these  law  matters  to  me,  and 
if  you  can  do  any  thing  to  comfort  her — if  your  religion 
can  teach  the  poor  thing  to  be  cheerful  or  patient,  my 
part  wont  be  the  most  important  after  all.  Well,  now, 
Mrs.  Allen,  what  are  you  good  for  ?  Why  didn't  you 
go  with  the  girl  ?" 

"  I  wished  it ;  but  they  wouldn't  let  me.  The  jail 
was  only  for  those  who  commit  crimes,  the  constable 
said,  and  I  had  no  right  there." 

"  But  you  shall  have  a  right,  if  I  have  to  sin  for  you," 
said  the  doctor,  dashing  his  crutch  on  the  floor.  "  This 
is  what  you  must  arrange.  Shut  up  the  house  here ; 
take  some  of  Thrasher's  money,  and  go  down  to  New 
Haven,  take  board  close  by  the  jail,  and  I'll  answer  for 
it  you  shall  spend  half  3Tour  time  with  Katharine.  If 
Thrasher  and  his  wife  could  go  with  you,  all  the  better 
— plenty  of  time  to  convert  her  in  the  prison.  If  the 
worst  comes  to  the  worst,  she'll  need  you,  and  you  can 
do  more  good  than  fifty  ministers." 


318  FRIENDS     IN     COUNCIL. 

"  Is  it  really  your  advice  that  I  go  ?"  said  Mrs.  Allen, 
with  painful  eagerness 

"  It's  my  opinion  that  you  should  all  go ;  nothing  to 
do  in  the  country  at  this  time  of  year.  You  can  com- 
fort one  another,  and  do  her  a  world  of  good." 

'I'm  sure  he's  right,"  said  Mrs.  Thrasher,  casting  an 
appealing  glance  at  her  husband.  "  We  might  be  a  great 
comfort  to  her.  How  can  we  spend  Nelson's  money 
better?" 

The  old  man  arose  and  went  out  with  the  doctor,  and 
the  two  consulted  together  some  minutes  by  the  gate, 
then  Mr.  Thrasher  returned. 

"  There  is  a  thing  we  have  not  considered,"  he  said  ; 
"these  two  strangers.  What  can  be  done  with  them?" 

Mrs.  Allen  went  to  a  cupboard  and  took  from  one  of 
the  shelves  a  New  York  Journal,  dated  months  back,  in 
which  Mrs.  Prior's  advertisement  for  scholars  and 
boarders  was  conspicuous. 

"  These  people  live  in  my  native  town,"  she  said  ;  "  it's 
a  long  •  time  since  I  left  it ;  but  Paul  would  be  much 
better  off  with  this  good  minister  than  here  with  a 
broken-hearted  old  woman.  My  son  has  forwarded 
money  for  his  support.  While  this  trouble  hangs  over 
us,  I  will  send  the  child  to  a  happier  home  ;  as  for  Jube, 
he  can  stay  on  the  place." 

Jube  heard  this,  and  clasped  his  great  hands  with  the 
sudden  shock  of  her  words.  What !  part  from  his  little 
master — let  the  boy  go  off  alone  among  strangers  !  It 
was  more  than  he  could  bear.  But  obedience  had  been 
the  first  lesson  of  his  life,  and  though  every  nerve  of  his 
heart  protested,  he  uttered  no  complaint.  Still,  as  he 
went  heavily  about  his  work  that  day,  tears  were  con- 
stantly dropping  from  his  eyes,  and  once  he  approached 


THE     SEPARATION.  819 

the  window  with  such  creeping  humility  that  she  half 
relented,  and  was  tempted  to  let  him  go  with  his  young 
charge. 

But  with  a  true  Connecticut  woman,  industry  is  one 
of  the  leading  virtues.  The  idea  of  a  stalwart  man 
passing  his  life  in  petting  a  little  boy,  was  out  of  the 
question.  True,  it  was  very  painful  for  her  to  separate 
these  two  singularly  matched  friends,  but  it  was  not  in 
her  nature  to  encourage  idleness,  so  Paul's  destiny  for 
a  time  was  decided. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

THE    SEPARATION. 

IT  was  a  sad  night  for  Paul — the  saddest,  perhaps,  of 
his  whole  life — for  hitherto  one  friend  had  been  with 
him ;  now  he  was  to  go  forth  alone.  This  was  weary 
trouble ;  but  the  boy  met  it  bravely.  Being  told  with 
firmness  that  it  was  wrong  to  desire  Jube  to  be  always 
with  him.  he  hushed  down  the  anguish  of  that  parting, 
and  went  away  with  bitter  tears  choked  back  in  his 
heart. 

This  story  was  in  the  days  of  carriers  and  stage- 
coaches. Paul  was  placed  in  charge  of  a  driver,  and 
early  the  next  morning  was  to  be  sent  on  his  journey. 
He  and  Jube  spent  half  an  hour  in  the  garret  before  he 
left,  and  a  touching  scene  passed  between  those  faithful 
hearts  in  that  lonely  place.  Jube  sat  down  on  the  floor 
and  held  the  lad  in  his  arms. 


320  THE     SEPARATION. 

"  You  wont  forget  me,  never,  little  masser  ?" 

"  Forget  you,  Jube,  I  couldn't  do  it ;  never,  never ; 
when  'sleep,  it  will  be  Jube  who  stands  by  in  the  dreams 
that  our  lady  will  send.  If  I  pray,  I  will  ask  her  to 
bless  Jube." 

"  Oh,  little  masser,  how  Jube's  heart  aches  !" 

"  And  mine,  Jube.     What  shall  I  do,  all  alone  ?" 

"Yes,  little  masser,  who  will  wake  you  up  in  the 
morning  and  warm  your  hands  in  his  ?" 

"No  one,"  sobbed  Paul — "no  one  ever  will  be  good 
to  me  like  you,  Jube." 

"And  you'll  want  Jube  ?" 

"Want  you — oh,  very  much." 

Jube  gathered  the  little  fellow  to  his  bosom  and  cried 
over  him  in  forlorn  silence. 

"  Little  masser  ?" 

"  Well,  Jube  ?"  was  the  mournful  answer. 

"I'll  try,  little  masser — I'll  do  very  much  to  stay  in 
this  house  when  you're  gone  ;  but  don't  be  frightened 
if  I  come  often.  Masser,"  sobbed  the  negro,  "it  does 
me  good  to  say  'little  masser,'  but  to-morrow  no  one 
will  hear  me." 

Paul  clung  to  his  friend.  "  But  I  shall  know  it.  In 
my  soul  I  shall  hear  Jube's  voice  saying,  'little  mas- 
ser.' " 

The  rattle  of  wheels  disturbed  them.  Tom  Hutchins 
had  driven  up  in  his  father's  yellow  wagon,  and  sat 
cracking  his  whip,  ready  to  convey  Paul  to  the  stage 
house,  where  the  doctor  was  waiting  to  see  his  youthful 
friend  off.  There  was  brief  leave-taking  between  Mrs. 
Allen  and  her  son's  protege*.  The  sorrows  that  pos- 
sessed her  were  so  absorbing  that  all  lesser  griefs  passed 
as  nothing.  She  kissed  the  boy  with  a  mournful  fare- 


THE     SEPARATION.  321 

well,  and  saw  hirn  driven  away  heavy-hearted  and  heavy 
eyed,  wondering  that  any  one,  even  a  child,  could  feel 
sorrow  for  so  slight  a  cause. 

Jube,  poor,  faithful  Jube,  lifted  Paul  into  the  wagon, 
folded  the  checked  blanket  which  draped  the  seat  ten- 
derly around  him,  and  turned  away,  covering  his  face 
with  both  hands. 

When  Paul  looked  back  to  wave  his  last  adieu,  Jube 
was  following  down  the  road  with  long  strides.  He 
soon  reached  the  wagon,  and  kept  up  with  it,  nowith- 
standing  Tom's  splendid  driving,  till  they  reached  the 
stage  house  on  the  hill  at  Chewstown. 

The  stage  was  not  in,  and  Tom  sat  in  magnificent 
state  by  his  foreign  friend,  snapping  his  whip  and  hold- 
ing in  his  horse,  which  was  made  restive  by  the  noise, 
with  great  force.  What  between  grief  at  his  friend's 
departure  and  the  glory  of  driving  a  young  horse  for 
the  first  time,  that  precocious  Jehu  was  in  a  state  of 
wonderful  excitement.  But  when  the  stage-coach  came 
in,  with  its  tin  horn  sounding  over  the  hills,  and  a 
crack  of  whips  that  startled  the  whole  neighborhood, 
Tom  folded  up  his  lash  in  despair,  and  shrinking  into 
the  insignificance  of  a  one-horse  wagon,  gave  way  to 
his  counter  passion  and  became  inconsolable  over  Paul's 
departure. 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  look  so,  Jube,"  he  said,  address- 
ing the  negro.  "  The  idea  of  sending  him  off  without 
you — it's  downright  scandlous.  Now  if  it  was  me  I'd 
cut.  Catch  a  chap  about  this  size  staying  behind  to 
please  an  old  woman  !  I  wouldn't  do  it !" 

"  Ha,  what  is  that  ?     What  you  say,  Masser  Tom  ? 
Cut — what  is  cut  ?" 
20 


322  THE     SEPARATION. 

Before  Tom  could  explain  his  meaning  to  the  negro, 
the  doctor  rode  up  and  shook  Paul  by  the  hand. 

"  Come,  hop  out,  my  little  shaver — seat  all  ready — • 
driver's  got  his  orders.  Here's  a  letter  that  you  must 
give  Mr.  Prior,  that's  a  good  boy.  Open  the  door,  dri* 
ver — lift  him  up,  cuffy — ho,  heave,  ho  !" 

The  stage  took  a  splendid  sweep,  that  nearly  broke 
Tom's  heart  with  envy,  then  swung  down  the  sand 
banks  across  the  bridge  and  away. 

Paul  leaned  from  a  window,  and  wildly  flung  kisses 
back  to  his  friends.  Jube  shaded  his  eyes  with  one 
hand,  but  tears  dropped  heavy  and  thick  from  under  it, 
while  Tom  jumped  out  of  his  wagon,  and  ran  after  the 
doctor. 

"  Doctor,  I  say,  you  jest  listen  to  reason.  That  ere 
nigger  is  breaking  his  consarned  black  heart  'cause  you 
amongst  you  wont  let  him  go  with  Paul.  It's  a  burn- 
ing shame  of  you,  doctor ;  he'll  jest  pine  away  into  a 
consumption ;  and  that'll  be  what  you  have  done." 

"  Why,  Tom,  what  is  all  this  about  ?  I  haven't  kept 
your  snowball ;  he  can  roll  where  he  pleases  for  any 
thing  I  care  about  it." 

"And  you  didn't  set  the  widder  up  to  this,  doctor  ?" 

"  Set  her  up  to  it  ?— no." 

"  Doctor,  give  us  your  hand.  I  ought  to  have  known 
better.  If  ever  there  was  a  chap  that  I  look  up  to  he 
isn't  far  off  from  this  'dentical  hoss.  If  you'd  gin  orders 
for  cuff  to  stay,  stay  he  should,  right  or  wrong ;  but  if 
it's  only  a  specimen  of  woman's  work,  then  Jube  is  his 
own  boss.  A  woman's  a  woman,  and  a  nigger  is  a  nig- 
ger— neither  uv  'em  can  vote  or  train  according  to  law. 
Then  what  right  has  one  over  'tother,  I  should  like  to 
know  ?" 


THE     SEPARATION.  823 

The  doctor's  eyes  twinkled  under  their  heavy  brows. 

"  That  is  logic,"  he  said,  leading  the  boy  on.  "  If 
women  could  vote,  and " 

"  If  wimmin  could  vote  1"  exclaimed  Tom,  with  mag- 
nificent disdain.  "  The  idee !  Who'd  take  care  of  the 
young  ones  while  they  trapsed  about  'lection  days? 
Well,  I  reckon  it  wouldn't  be  me — I've  had  enough  of 
that  'ere." 

"  Well,  Tom,  as  women  can't  vote,  and  have  no  right 
to  order  negroes,  what  course  would  you  advise  Jube  to 
take  ?" 

"  Cut,  doctor ;  that's  what  I'd  do  in  this  case !" 

"  Well,  if  he  wants  to  cut,  and  has  the  money  to  afford 
it,  I  don't  see  the  harm." 

"You  don't?  Hurrah,  Jube!  You  don't ?— that's 
enough.  Good-by,  doctor." 

Away  the  lad  rushed,  and  sprang  with  a  bound  into 
the  wagon. 

"  Come,  Jube — hurry  up.  I've  got  something  splen- 
did to  say  to  you.  Jump  in,  and  I  don't  mind  driving 
you  over  the  hill.  Chirk  up,  old  fellow,  we'll  be  after 
him  yet,  but  I'll  think  it  over  till  morning." 

Jube  obeyed  this  boisterous  summons,  and  climbed 
into  the  wagon. 

The  next  day,  Mrs.  Allen  left  her  house,  and  took  up 
her  lonely  abode  in  New  Haven.  Old  Mr.  Thrasher 
went  with  her,  leaving  his  wife  behind  for  a  few  days, 
when  she  too  would  give  up  her  home.  Jube  was  left 
alone  in  the  house,  alone  in  the  cruel  cold,  so  heart- 
broken and  desolate  that  he  had  not  sufficient  energy 
to  build  a  fire,  or  cook  necessary  food.  Tom  was  right 
— a  few  weeks  of  this  life  would  have  killed  the  noble 
fellow  outright.  On  the  third  day  after  Paul  left,  he 


324  THE     SEPARATION. 

was  sitting  drearily  on  the  hearth,  with  his  feet  in  the 
ashes,  when  Tom  came  in. 

"Just  as  I  expected,"  he  said,  dropping  into  Mrs. 
Allen's  high-backed  chair.  "  Down  in  the  mouth — clean 
give  up — not  worth  salt." 

Jube  did  not  speak,  but  sat  supporting  his  head  with 
both  hands,  looking  gloomily  into  the  ashes. 

"  Look  a  here,  cuff,  to-morrow  is  stage  day  agin." 

"I  know  it,"  said  Jube.  "The  doctor  stopped  here 
and  told  me." 

"  He  did  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  why  didn't  you  take  the  hint  ?" 

Jube  looked  at  Tom,  with  a  languid  question  in  his 
eyes. 

"  Pick  up  your  money,  jump  on  the  top  of  the  stage, 
and  dash  away  after  Paul.  That's  what  he  meant  by 
coming  here." 

"  Ha !  ha  I  what  that  ?"  cried  Jube,  starting  to  his  feet. 

"  Now,  don't  go  off  the  handle ;  but  pack  up  your  bun- 
dle, and  be  off  in  the  morning.  What  are  you  skeered 
about  ?  What's  the  use  of  working  when  you've  got 
lots  an'  lots  of  cash  ?  Just  up  and  go  after  Paul.  He's 
breaking  his  heart,  and  so  are  you ;  besides,  this  old 
house  is  enough  to  set  a  feller  crazy.  I  couldn't  stand 
it.  Just  up  and  go ;  that's  my  advice.  The  doctor'll 
make  it  all  right  with  the  old  woman." 

"  But  the  animals — the  poor  cow  and  the  birds — who 
feed  them  when  Jube  gone?" 

"That's  exactly  what  I  come  about.  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  that  difficulty,  I'd  a  had  you  off  afore  this. 
I've  been  talking  to  par  about  the  chores  to  hum,  and 
he's  kinder  promised  to  let  me  off  from  part  of  'em  and 


THE     SEPARATION.  325 

me  time  to  stop  here  on  my  way  to  school  and  back. 
['11  take  care  of  the  critters  and  feed  the  chickens  till 
some  of  'em  get  home  again  ;  so  don't  worry  yourself 
ibout  them,  but  chirk  up  and  act  like  a  man.  What  are 
,rou  looking  away  for  ?  Don't  it  suit  you  ?" 

Jube  turned  his  face  upon  the  boy  ;  a  face  all  quiver- 
ug  and  aglow  with  happiness. 

"  Oh,  Masser  Tom,  a  great  rock  is  lifted  right  off  from 
ny  heart.  Masser  Paul !  Masser  Paul !" 

"  It  wont  take  you  ir.ore  than  a  day  to  get  there." 

"One  day?  to-morrow  night ?  no  more?"  questioned 
he  negro,  earnestly. 

"  Jes  so.  Now  pack  up  and  I'll  drive  you  over  to  the 
tage  house,  consarn  me,  if  I  wont ;  for,  cuffy  or  no 
uffy,  you  are  a  prime  feller,  Jube,  and  I  aint  ashamed 
f  your  acquaintance.  It's  an  honor,  Jube,  and  I 
eel  it." 

The  next  morning  Tom  sat  in  his  father's  yellow 
ragon  in  front  of  the  stage  house,  while  Jube,  smiling 
ill  all  his  teeth  shone,  again  waved  an  adieu  from  the 
Dp  of  the  stage . 

"  Good-by,  Jube ;  tell  Paul  not  to  forget  old  Bungy 
nd  the  folks  that's  in  it." 

Jube  smiled  broadly. 

"  Tell  him  to  come  back  in  the  spring." 

Jube  lost  his  message,  for  the  stage  went  off,  scatter- 
ig  a  storm  of  mud  from  its  wheels,  and  thundering 
own  the  sand  banks  with  a  flourish  of  whips  that 
ggravated  Tom's  unhappiness  beyond  measure. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  muttered,  turning  his  horse  to  fol- 
>w  on  the  same  road.  "  If  Rose  Mason  only  knew  I 
as  driving  this  young  critter  that  she  used  to  consider 
)  harnsome,  she  wouldn't  think  that  stage  any  thing 
•emendous,  loud  as  the  driver  cracks  his  whip." 


326  PAUL     FINDS     A     NEW     HOME. 

With  these  consoling  fragments  of  thought,  Tom  fol- 
lowed in  the  wake  of  the  stage,  trying  his  whip  as  he 
crossed  the  bridge  in  a  manner  that  made  his  young 
steed  plunge  and  jump  on  one  side  with  a  violence  that 
brought  the  boy's  heart  into  his  mouth.  While  he  was 
busy  subduing  the  spirited  animal  the  doctor  rode  on  to 
the  bridge  and  watched  the  conflict.  It  was  soon  over, 
for  Tom  had  ignominiously  given  up  by  thrusting  his 
whip  under  the  seat  in  great  dismay. 

"  Well,  what's  the  news,  Tom  ?"  inquired  the  doctor, 
as  he  rode  by. 

"  Nothing  special  sir,  only  Jube  has  cut.  Going  up 
the  hill  yonder  on  top  of  the  stage.  I  say,  you'll  just 
make  it  all  right  with  Mrs.  Allen,  doctor  ?" 

The  doctor  nodded,  chuckled  softly,  and  rode  on 


CHAPTER    XLY. 
I 

PAUL   FINDS   A   NEW   HOME. 


ONCE  more  the  stage  swung  to  at  minister  Prior's 
gate,  and  this  time  a  slender  boy,  with  a  beauty  of 
countenance  that  made  you  hold  your  breath,  was  lifted 
through  the  door,  and  set  carefully  down  upon  the 
grass. 

Mr.  Prior,  who  had  been  dreaming  over  his  sermon 
in  the  study,  came  out,  looking  bland  as  a  summer's 
morning,  and  was  accosted  by  the  driver  : 

"  I  say,  minister,  I  always  bring  luck.  Here  is  one 
of  the  nicest  little  shavers  that  ever  you  saw.  He  wants 


PAUL     FINDS     A     NEW     HOME.  327 

to  come  to  school,  and  I've  told  him  that  you'll  be  a 
father  to  him,  and  as  for  Mrs.  Prior — well,  there's  no 
doing  that  lady  justice." 

Mr.  Prior  smiled  pleasantly,  and  went  up  to  Paul. 

"  He  is  indeed  a  fine  boy." 

"  Thank  you,  monsieur,"  said  Paul,  taking  a  letter, 
which  the  doctor  had  given  him,  from  his  pocket. 
"  When  you  read  this  perhaps  you  tell  more  sure  if  I 
can  stay  here." 

Mr.  Prior  glanced  over  the  letter,  and  smiled  down 
with  hospitable  kindness  into  Paul's  anxious  eyes. 

"  It  would  be  difficult  to  answer  no,  even  if  we  wished 
it,"  he  said,  kindly;  "an  orphan  and  a  stranger — it  is 
from  such  I  fancy  that  the  angels  come  to  us  unawares." 

"You  will  not  find  me  too  much  troiible,"  said  Paul, 
smiling.  "  I  study  English  good  deal — try  always." 

"  French  is  your  native  language,  I  think  ?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur !" 

"  Then  we  will  soon  find  a  lady  who  can  talk  with  you ; 
come,  my  little  man." 

The  minister  led  Paul  into  the  house,  speaking  to  him 
kindly  enough,  although,  in  his  shyness,  he  was  always 
sadly  at  a  loss  what  to  say  to  any  child,  and  the  boy 
looked  so  sorrowful  at  parting  with  his  friend  that  the 
clergyman  was  in  doubt  what  manner  of  argument  to 
employ  by  way  of  consolation. 

He  gave  the  little  fellow  a  seat  in  the  parlor,  and 
went  away  to  find  Mrs.  Prior,  and  inform  her  of  the  ar- 
rival of  her  new  pupil.  She  hurried  in  at  once,  and  her 
motherly  kindness  soon  made  Paul,  in  a  measure,  forget 
his  loneliness  and  desolation. 

Mrs.  Mason  and  Rose  had  gone  out  to  walk ;  so,  for 
an  hour  or  two,  the  little  woman  gave  the  boy  her  uiidi- 


* 

328  PAUL     FINDS     A     NEW     HOME. 

rided  attention.  He  refused  dinner,  saj'ing  they  had 
dined  on  the  road ;  but  Mrs.  Prior,  ont  of  the  experi- 
ence of  her  schoolmistress  days,  had  great  faith  in  the 
unlimited  powers  of  children  in  the  wa}*  of  voraciousness, 
so  she  brought  him  all  manner  of  quaint  shaped  cakes 
and  crullers,  red  apples  and  nuts,  until  Paul  was  con- 
fused by  the  abundance,  and  sat  with  them  on  the  hand- 
kerchief laid  across  his  lap,  staring  ruefully  at  the  pile, 
and  really  not  knowing  where  to  begin. 

But  what  comforted  Paul  more  than  any  thing  was  to 
hear  himself  addressed  in  his  native  language,  which 
Mrs.  Prior  spoke  with  a  sufficient  degree  of  fluency. 

"I  have  a  little  girl  here,"  she  said,  "who  will  be  a 
nice  plajrnate  for  you. " 

"  Is  she  a  pretty  little  girl  ?"  Paul  asked  ;  for  he  pos- 
sessed a  keen  appreciation  of  beauty.  % 

"  Very  pretty ;  her  name  is  Rose,  and  she  is  nice  and 
sweet,  like  her  name." 

Paul  was  interested  at  once,  and  poured  forth  a 
flood  of  questions  with  such  volubility  that  it  required 
all  Mrs.  Prior's  knowledge  of  French  to  follow  him. 
When  he  learned  that  it  was  the  very  Rose  that  Tom 
Hutchins  had  talked  of  so  much,  he  felt  at  once  that  he 
had  fallen  among  old  friends,  and  his  face  brightened 
till  its  singular  beauty  became  a  marvel  in  the  eyes  of 
the  minister's  little  wife. 

Before  Mrs.  Mason  and  her  daughter  returned,  Paul 
and  his  hostess  had  become  the  best  friends  imaginable. 
He  grew  very  confidential,  made  her  cry  heartily  with  a 
few  words  which  conveyed  an  account  of  his  mother's 
death,  and  she  brightened  at  the  story  of  his  rescue  at 
sea,  and  in  her  gentle  heart  blessed  the  rough  sailor  of 
whom  Paul  spoke  so  lovingly.  In  the  glow  of  these 


PAUL     FINDS     A     NEW     HOME.  329 

benevolent  feelings  she  determined  to  do  every  thing 
in  her  power  to  make  the  child's  residence  in  her  family 
a  happy  episode  in  his  life. 

When  she  heard  Mrs.  Mason  and  little  Rose  in  the 
hall,  Mrs.  Prior  went  out  and  asked  them  to  come  in. 

"  I  want  your  daughter  and  my  new  charge  to  be 
good  friends,"  she  said,  pleasantly,  to  Mrs.  Mason. 

"  I  will  see  him  before  I  give  any  answer,  if  you 
please,"  replied  that  lady,  who  grew  more  haughty  and 
insolent  every  day.  ^ 

"  His  society  could  not  fail  to  be  of  benefit  to  any 
child,"  returned  Mrs.  Prior,  annoyed,  as  often  happened 
now,  by  the  imperious  manner  of  her  boarder.  "  He  is 
the  most  perfect  little  gentleman  1  ever  saw  in  my  life." 

Mrs.  Mason  made  an  effort  to  look  somewhat  doubt- 
ful of  Mrs.  Prior's  judgment  in  such  matters,  but  there 
was  a  certain  dignity  in  the  lady's  manner  which  checked 
further  insolence. 

Indeed,  Mrs.  Mason  herself  was  wonderfully  struck 
with  the  boy's  delicacy  of  features  and  refinement  of 
manner,  the  moment  she  saw  him.  Her  curiosity  was 
excited,  and  she  asked  innumerable  questions,  which 
Paul  answered  evasively,  for  his  childish  instincts  pre- 
judiced him  against  the  beautiful  woman  at  once. 

But  the  little  girl  and  he  soon  opened  friendly  rela- 
tions, after  the  first  shyness,  natural  to  children,  had 
•worn  off.  In  the  corner,  where  Paul  was  taken  to  ad- 
mire her  dolls,  all  fast  asleep,  as  good  dolls  should  be 
when  visitors  come  on  them  unawares,  she  began  to 
question  him  at  once.  What  child  would  not  ?  He 
told  her  of  his  perilous  sea  life,  and  of  the  beautiful 
country  where  he  once  lived,  but  there  were  scenes  in 
that  life  so  dark  and  terrible  that  the  boy's  heart  shrunk 


* 

330  PAUL     FINDS     A     NEW     HOME. 

away  from  them  even  in  thought.  To  have  mentioned 
them  in  childish  play  would  have  proved  beyond  his 
power.  Among  these  were  the  blows  that  had  been 
dealt  on  Jube,  and  all  his  miserable  life  in  that  brig. 

Another  subject  which  he  never  mentioned  was  the 
story  of  poor  Katharine.  Mrs.  Allen,  shrinking  from 
the  idea  that  her  daughter's  disgrace  should  be  carried 
to  her  native  town,  had  cautioned  Paul  never  to  men- 
tion their  names,  and  he  obeyed  her  faithfully. 

The  doctor  had  obtained  a  letter  from  a  clergyman  in 
New  Haven  to  Mr.  Prior,  which  the  boy  had  brought  as 
an  introduction,  and  that  was  all  the  information  neces- 
sary. 

Thus,  though  Paul  and  Rose  became  good  friends,  he 
never  spoke  of  the  people  or  scenes  which  they  knew  in 
common.  % 

When  bedtime  came,  Paul  went  up  to  the  pretty  little 
room  prepared  for  him  with  considerable  hesitation,  as 
he  had  always  had  Jube  near  for  comfort  and  protection. 

However,  he  was  too  manly  for  a  single  remonstrance, 
and  when  Mrs.  Prior  kissed  him  good-night  at  the  door, 
he  knelt  for  his  prayers,  and  hastened  to  bed  with  all 
speed. 

When  he  was  safely  in  bed,  and  the  warmth  began  to 
make  him  feel  somewhat  less  disconsolate,  Mrs.  Prior 
came  to  take  away  the  candle,  through  fear  of  imaginary 
accidents. 

"Are  you  comfortable  ?"  she  asked,  stopping  to  look 
at  him,  as  he  lay  with  his  classical  head  visible  above 
the  clothes. 

"  Very,"  Paxil  said. 

"  Sleep  well,  and  try  to  be  happy,"  she  returned, 
giving  him  another  kiss,  out  of  the  tenderness  of  her 
heart. 


JUBE'S    JOURNEY.  831 

"  Thank  you,  madame,"  Paul  said,  touched,  as  he  al- 
ways was,  by  any  evidence  of  kindness.  "  I  like  you 
very  much,  very  much." 

Mrs.  Prior  was  not  half  way  down-stairs  before  Paul 
was  quietly  asleep.  Fatigue  kept  him  from  dwelling 
upon  this  new  change.  Indeed,  he  had  grown  so  accus- 
tomed to  removals  and  strangers  that  he  received  them 
with  very  diiferent  feelings  from  those  which  would  for- 
merly have  troubled  him. 


CHAPTER    XLVL 

JUBE   FINDS   HIS   WAY   TO   BAYS   HOLLOW. 

THE  next  morning,  while  Paul  and  Rose  were  playing 
in  the  dining-room — the  little  girl  having  been  granted  a 
holiday  on  account  of  the  boy's  arrival — there  arose  in 
the  kitchen  a  sudden  commotion,  which  attracted  Mrs. 
Prior's  attention.  She  went  out,  and  found  her  little 
handmaiden  in  conversation  with  an  immense  negro, 
who  looked  so  good-natured  and  anxious,  that  it  was  a 
wonder  he  could  have  frightened  anybody,  although  the 
girl  appeared  somewhat  inclined  to  run  away. 

When  Mrs.  Prior  entered,  the  man  turned  toward  her 
with  a  ponderous  bow. 

"What  do  you  want,  my  good  man?"  she  asked, 
gently. 

"  My  young  rnasser  is  here,"  Jube  said,  with  another 
salute. 


332  JUBK'S    JOURNEY. 

"  Your  young  master?" 

"Yes;  Masser  Paul." 

"Are  you  his  servant?" 

"  Yes,  if  madame  pleases.  Jube  came  with  him  from 
the  old  home,  saw  the  mistress  buried,  and  has  been 
wandering  about  with  little  masser  ever  since." 

"  He  told  me  about  you,"  said  Mrs.  Prior. 

"  Yes,  madame.  So  when  madame  sent  masser  away, 
Jube  meant  to  stay  there  and  take  care  of  the  house. 
But  Jube  would  have  died — came  after  little  masser. 
Please  take  me,  madame.  Jube  can  work ;  he'll  do  any 
thing,  big,  big,  strong." 

He  extended  his  stalwart  arms  as  a  proof  of  his  words, 
and  Mrs.  Prior  was  touched  by  his  earnestness. 

"  We  have  no  need  of  any  more  help,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  Jube  be  great  help — -jis  take  me,  madame, 
you  see — no  be  sorry,  no  indeed." 

"  I  would  willingly,  for  the  child's  sake,  but  we  are 
not  rich;  my  husband  could  not  afford  to  pay  you 
wages." 

"  Jube  not  want  wages — no  good  of  money.  Please 
let  Jube  stay,  lady." 

"  Mrs.  Prior  went  up  to  the  study  to  hold  a  private 
consultation  with  her  husband ;  while  she  was  gone,  Paul 
and  Rose  passed  through  the  kitchen. 

At  the  sight  of  the  negro,  the  boy  gave  a  cry  of  de- 
light, and  rushed  into  his  arms,  with  a  burst  of  tears 
and  wild  ejaculations.  Jube  sobbed  aloud,  and  it  was 
some  time  before  either  of  them  could  in  the  least  re- 
cover their  composure. 

Rose  stood  looking  at  them  in  great  astonishment ; 
but  when  Paul  managed  to  explain  that  this  was  the 
Jube  of  whom  he  had  told  her,  she  cried  and  laughed 


.TUBE'S    JOURNEY.  333 

also,  from  pure  sympathy,  while  the  handmaiden  worked 
herself  into  such  a  state  of  bewilderment  that  she  laid 
the  forks  where  the  spoons  belonged,  put  an  empty  tin 
pan  into  the  oven,  instead  of  the  pudding,  which  was 
ready  for  baking,  and  performed  a  variety  of  other  won- 
derful feats,  which  brought  great  disgrace  upon  her 
shortly  after. 

When  Mrs.  Prior  and  the  clergyman  came  down-stairs, 
they  found  Paul  nestled  close  to  his  old  friend,  and 
looking  so  happy  that  the  very  idea  of  refusing  the  ne- 
gro's request  sent  a  pang  to  their  hearts. 

"  Jube  must  stay,"  Paul  cried,  in  his  exquisitely  per- 
suasive way  ;  "  please  to  say  yes,  good  madame — shan't 
he  stay,  sir?" 

The  clergyman  looked  at  his  wife,  and  she  looked 
back  at  him ;  both  were  extremely  perplexed. 

"Jube  no  want  wages,"  said  the  negro,  "only  wants 
to  live  near  little  masser." 

"  Yes,  that  is  all,"  added  Paul. 

"  "We  certainly  cannot  have  the  man,"  Mrs.  Prior  said 
to  her  husband. 

"  That  is  out  of  the  question,"  he  replied. 

"  But  what  can  we  do  ?" 

"Settle  it  yourself,  Mrs.  Prior;  your  decision  is  sure 
to  be  a  correct  and  wise  one." 

"With  these  complimentary  words,  the  minister  helped 
himself  out  of  his  difficulty  by  leaving  the  room. 

Mrs.  Prior  looked  at  the  friends  in  great  trouble ;  but 
little  Paul  approached  her  chair  and  put  his  arms  about 
her  neck ;  Rose  clung  to  her  hand  and  added  her  entrea- 
ties ;  while  Jube  gazed  at  her  with  his  great,  honest  eyes. 

The  result  of  all  this  affair  was,  that  Jube  insisted  on 
making  himself  so  agreeable,  and  began  at  once  to  de- 


334  JUBE'S   JOURNEY. 

monstrate  his  powers  of  usefulness  so  acceptably  that 
there  was  really  no  turning  him  out  of  doors. 

The  good  fellow  had  some  mechanical  genius,  and  ex- 
erted it  to  the  delight  of  little  Rose  in  furnishing  her 
play-house,  and  building  sleds  and  wagons  for  Paul, 
large  enough  for  her  to  ride  in.  Then,  Jube  made  such 
a  splendid  horse,  and  never  got  tired  of  carrying  her  or 
drawing  the  little  sled  on  which  she  rode.  When  she 
expressed  a  wish  to  ride  on  horseback,  Jube  lifted  her 
to  his  broad  shoulders,  or  put  out  his  foot,  which  in- 
stantly swung  itself  into  full  canter,  and  away  she  went, 
rushing  off  to  "  Canterbury  Cross"  in  high  glee. 

To  Mrs.  Prior,  both  Jube  and  his  little  master  were 
objects  of  peculiar  interest.  Paul  was  eloquent  in  his 
own  language,  and  through  its  medium  he  conveyed 
many  pleasant  fancies  to  the  mind  of  Rose,  and  thus, 
all  in  play,  brought  her  through  the  first  practice  of  a 
study  her  mother  had  greatly  at  heart. 

As  the  winter  snows  melted,  and  the  sweet  spring 
days  came  on,  it  was  pleasant  to  see  Jube  seated  with 
the  children — at  heart,  almost  as  much  of  a  child  as 
either  of  them — beneath  a  huge  apple  tree  that  stood  in 
the  meadow,  and  covered  one  of  the  most  lovely  straw- 
berry slopes  in  the  world  with  its  shadow. 

As  the  bright  days  came  on,  the  favor  of  instruction 
was  not  altogether  on  one  side.  Rose  had  her  own  little 
accomplishments,  which  she  taught  in  shy  triumph  in 
exchange  for  the  sweet  language  and  pretty  names  be- 
stowed on  her.  She  taught  Paul  how  to  curl  dandelion 
stems  into  innumerable  ringlets,  and  made  an  astonish- 
ing halter  of  daisy  chains  for  Jube,  that  was  not  the 
less  perfect  because  it  broke  into  a  shower  of  white 
blossoms  at  the  first  hard  pull,  and  littered  the  grass 


JUBE'S    JOURNEY.  335 

like  a  snow-storm.  Then  she  could  braid  rushes  seven 
strands  at  a  time,  and  weave  them  into  such  pretty 
green  baskets  that  Mrs.  Prior  considered  them  the  pet 
ornaments  of  her  parlor. 

Besides  these  accomplishments,  Rose  had  a  delicious 
voice,  and  sung  snatches  of  music  at  her  work.  These 
wild  strains  so  excited  the  robins  in  the  apple  tree 
boughs  that  they  forgot  nest-building  and  love-making, 
to  join  in  a  chorus  that  rang  all  over  the  meadow, 
bringing  other  birds  to  see  what  it  was  all  about,  who 
liked  the  premises,  and  built  their  nests  also  among 
the  sweet  blossoms  and  leaves  of  dainty  green,  till 
the  old  tree  was  a  marvel  for  its  feathered  population. 

I  am  afraid  Rose  sometimes  followed  Paul  up  into  the 
apple  tree,  taking  shy  peeps  at  the  pretty  blue  eggs 
which  he  exposed  by  sweeping  the  soft  leaves  back  from 
the  nest  with  his  hands.  Once  or  twice  Mrs.  Prior 
found  her  in  a  corner  of  the  garret,  making  desperate 
efforts  to  darn  a  long  rent  in  her  dress,  and  crying  bit- 
terly because  the  cloth  would  draw  into  knots  and 
gathers  under  her  hand,  more  conspicuous  than  the  ori- 
ginal tear  had  been,  which  must  have  strengthened  this 
suspicion  about  the  apple  tree  very  much. 

Of  course  the  good  lady  remedied  this  evil  with  her 
own  deft  little  fingers,  and  Mrs.  Mason  was  too  busy 
with  other  things  just  then  to  heed  torn  frocks  or  the 
shamefacedness  which  on  ordinary  occasions  would 
have  betrayed  them. 

Thus  time  wore  on,  till  Mrs.  Mason  had  become  a 
dashing  performer  on  the  piano,  for  she  practiced  day 
and  night  on  the  accomplishments  that  she  willed  to 
master,  and  in  every  thing  made  up  for  deficiencies  by 
audacious  self-possession.  Thus,  while  Rose  and  the 


336       A     CHILDISH     CONSULTATION. 

birds  were  singing  out  of  doors,  she  sent  a  storm  of 
music  through  the  open  windows,  which  were  just  far 
enough  from  the  apple  tree  to  excite  the  birds  without 
frightening  them  to  death. 


CHAPTER  XLYII. 

A   CHILDISH   CONSULTATION. 

THE  life  which  these  children  and  their  companion  led 
at  Bays  Hollow  was  quiet  and  peaceful,  especially  to  those 
strange  beings,  after  the  privations  and  bitter  troubles 
through  which  they  had  passed.  The  mournful  look 
that  had  seemed  natural  to  Paul,  went  out  from  his 
eyes,  which  grew  soft  or  bright  with  changing  feelings, 
but  the  haggard  anguish  which  had  made  their  glance 
so  painfully  sad,  never  came  back  to  them.  As  for 
Jube,  he  was  like  a  Newfoundland  dog — full  of  courage, 
strength,  and  cheerfulness. 

The  minister  and  Mrs.  Prior  were  a  great  deal  happier 
for  having  these  children  in  the  house.  Indeed  Mrs.  P. 
put  on  the  most  awkward  little  maternal  airs,  like  a 
great  girl  beginning  to  play  with  dolls  late  in  life,  for 
which  the  minister  admired  her  prodigiously.  Once, 
when  they  were  quite  alone,  he  observed  in  a  dreamy 
way,  "  That  it  was  a  sad  pity  such  talent  for  govern- 
ment should  be  exhausted  on  other  people's  children," 
at  which  Mrs.  Prior  went  off  in  a  spasm  of  blushes,  and 
the  minister  crept  out  of  the  room,  quite  ashamed  of 
himself,  feeling  that  he  had  approached  the  verge  of  total 
depravity  in  that  unhappy  speech. 


A     CHILDISH     COXSULTATION.       337 

One  day  when  Paul  and  Jube  were  busy  among  the 
strawberry  vines  in  the  meadow,  searching,  with  great 
anxiety,  for  the  first  tinge  of  red  upon  the  slowly  ripen- 
ing fruit,  for  the  boy  was  eager  to  secure  a  handful  for 
little  Rose,  that  young  lady  was  seen  dashing  through 
the  back  door  of  the  house,  and  running  full  speed 
toward  the  strawberry  hollow.  Paul  started  up  and 
shook  his  head  to  indicate  that  there  was  no  hope  of 
strawberries  yet,  while  Jube,  who  was  on  all  fours  among 
the  virfes,  lifted  his  broad  face  like  an  expectant  dog, 
and  laughed  till  all  his  teeth  shone  again,  with  the  joy- 
ousness  of  her  approach. 

On  she  came,  rushing  through  the  fresh  wind,  her 
curls  floating  out  behind  her,  and  her  face  full  of  wild 
excitement. 

"Something  is  the  matter,"  said  Paul,  stepping  for- 
ward to  meet  her.  "  Who  has  frightened  Rose,  I  should 
like  to  know  ?" 

"  Paul,  Paul,  come  here,  under  the  apple  tree,"  were 
the  first  breathless  words  of  our  little  girl.  "  I  want  to 
tell  you  something." 

Paul  took  her  hand  with  his  usual  gentle  kindness, 
and  the  two  ran  to  the  apple  tree's  shade. 

"  This  is  it,"  said  Rose,  panting  for  breath,  while  her 
eyes  sparkled  like  diamonds.  "  He  has  come — that  man 
who  loves  my  mother  so  much.  He's  a  going  to  marry 
her  right  off,  as  sure  as  you  live.  Marry  her — my  own, 
own  mother — who  never  will  love  me  again  after  that ; 
never,  never !" 

Rose  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears,  and  flinging  her- 
self against  the  trunk  of  the  tree  wept  bitterly. 

Paul  was  greatly  troubled ;  not  that  he  understood 
21 


338       A     CHILDISH     CONSULTATION. 

the  matter,  but  because  it  grieved  him  to  see  Rose  cry 
so  bitterly. 

"  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  dropping  two  dimpled  hands 
from  her  eyes,  and  stamping  her  tiny  feet  on  the 
grass,  "  oh  dear,  how  I  wish  that  Captain  Thrasher  was 
dead." 

Paul  started,  and  turned  very  pale.  "  Jube,  Jube," 
he  called  out,  with  a  cry  of  pain. 

Jube  started  up  from  his  knees,  and  came  running 
toward  the  children. 

"  What  is  it — what  is  it,  little  masser  ?" 

"  He  is  here,  that  bad  man — he  wants  to  marry  Rose's 
mother,"  cried  the  lad,  flinging  his  arms  around  the 
little  girl,  and  looking  the  brave,  bright  boy  he  really 
was. 

"Who,  who,  little  masser?"  cried  Jube,  looking 
around  for  some  enemy. 

"  Captain  Thrasher."  Paul  uttered  the  name  in  a 
whisper. 

Jube  clenched  his  hand,  looking  fiercely  toward  the 
house. 

"  He  there,  Masser  Paul  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  angry  child,  shaking  her  little  rose- 
bud of  a  fist  at  the  house.  "  He's  there  with  my  own 
mother,  this  minute.  He'll  carry  her  off  in  spite  of  us 
all." 

"  What  can  we  do  ?"  said  Paul,  anxiously  looking  at 
Jube. 

"  Couldn't  you  just  kill  him,  Jube,  as  you  did  the 
garter  snake,"  cried  Rose,  shaking  the  drops  from  her 
eager  eyes. 

Jube  hesitated ;  the  fellow  had  a  vague  idea  that  some 
one  might  object  to  this  mode  of  settling  the  difficulty. 


A     CHILDISH     CONSULTATION.       339 

Paul  drew  back  with  affright.  He  had  received  a  cruel 
knowledge  of  the  laws  regarding  human  life,  and  the 
reined}-  pointed  out  by  little  Rose  made  him  shrink. 

"We  must  not  ask  Jube  to  be  wicked,"  he  said, 
gently. 

Rose  dashed  his  hand  away.  "  Isn't  it  wicked  for 
that  man  to  come  here  after  my  own  mother?"  she 
cried,  indignantly. 

"  Yes,  Rose;  but  it  would  be  more  wicked  for  Jube  to 
harm  him.  The*  law,  Rose,  the  law." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care.  What  is  the  law  ?  If  it's  a  man, 
Jube  can  whip  him,  can't  you,  Jube  ?"  cried  the  little 
damsel,  going  for  belligerent  rights  with  all  her  puny 
strength. 

"  But  it  isn't  a  man,  Rose,"  said  Paul,  solemnly.  "  It's 
something  that  no  one  ever  sees.  It  comes  like  death, 
and  when  a  person  does  wrong,  even  if  it  was  a  beauti- 
ful lady,  strikes  her  down  till  her  heart  breaks.  It  shuts 
people  up  in  prison." 

"  Oh  don't,  don't,"  cried  Rose. 

"  It  hangs  'em  by  the  neck  between  two  beams." 

"  Oh,  how  you  frighten  me,  Paul." 

"  It  hunts  after  a  person  who  has  done  wrong,  day 
and  night,  and  catches  him  at  last.  Oh,  Rose,  if  you 
only  knew  how  cruel  the  law  can  be." 

Rose  hushed  her  sobs  and  drew  close  to  Paul,  quite 
awe-stricken.  "Never  mind,  Jube  needn't  do  it.  I'll 
ask  the  minister  to  pray  God  to  help  us,  that  will  be  the 
best  thing." 

"Yes,"  said  Paul,  brightening,  "and  I'll — no  matter 
about  that,  people  shouldn't  talk  about  these  things, 
but  '  our  Lady '  has  done  great  things  for  people  in 
distress." 


A     CHILDISH     CONSULTATION. 

They  sat  down  in  a  group  under  the  apple  tree,  con- 
sulting eagerly  together.  After  awhile  the  parlor  win- 
dow opened,  and  a  clear,  ringing  voice  called  out : 

"  Rose !  Rose  Mason,  I  say." 

"  I  must  go,"  said  the  little  girl,  with  a  look  of  de- 
plorable helplessness.  "  She'll  want  me  to  kiss  him,  but 
I  wont!" 

Paul  lifted  her  little  hand  to  his  lips,  and  kissed  it 
with  touching  grace. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  Rose.  Jube  wont  let  anybodj' 
hurt  you." 

"  I — I  aint  afraid,"  cried  Rose,  tossing  her  golden 
curls.  "He  daren't  kiss  me,  I  know  that." 

She  went  away  slowly,  looking  over  her  shoulder  from 
time  to  time  during  her  progress  toward  the  house. 
The  apple  tree  was  not  within  sight  of  the  parlor  win- 
dows, thus  both  Jube  and  Paul  remained  unseen  by  the 
two  people  who  occupied  that  room;  an  unfortunate 
circumstance,  perhaps,  for  their  recognition  might  have 
changed  the  whole  course  of  events.  As  it  was,  both 
Paul  and  Jube  were  anxious  to  keep  out  of  sight.  When 
they  left  the  meadow,  Paul  went  to  his  room,  and  in  the 
simplicity  of  his  faith,  put  up  many  an  orison  to  the 
Virgin,  in  behalf  of  this  pretty  friend.  What  else  could 
the  child  do  ? 


THE     NECKLACE.  341 

CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

PAUL   SEES   HIS   MOTHER'S   NECKLACE. 

BEFORE  Rose  left  the  parlor  she  was  so  frightened  and 
subdued  by  her  mother's  stern  reprimands,  that  all  idea 
of  appealing  for  help  forsook  her.  So  she  ran  desperately 
into  a  closet  connected  with  her  mother's  chamber,  fell 
upon  the  floor,  and  cried  herself  to  sleep,  with  her  flushed 
cheeks  resting  on  two  round  arms,  folded  helplessly  on 
the  bare  boards. 

Toward  night,  Mrs.  Mason  came  up-stairs,  looking 
haughty  and  excited.  Without  heeding  the  child,  who 
lay  just  within  the  closet,  with  her  curls  scattered  over 
the  threshold  of  the  door,  she  began  to  open  trunks  and 
bureaus,  from  which  she  drew  first  a  heavy  silk  dress, 
which  just  escaped  being  white  by  a  tinge  of  pe;.rl 
gray,  some  gossamer  laces,  and  other  indications  of  an 
elaborate  toilet.  Then  she  let  down  her  magnificent 
hair,  brushed  out  its  glossy  waves,  and  began  to  braid 
it ;  stopping  now  and  then  to  rest  her  arms  on  -the  table 
before  her,  and  sighing  heavily,  as  if  it  required  all  her 
energies  to  keep  up  that  proud  show  of  strength. 

After  wreathing  these  heavy  braids  around  her  head 
in  the  form  of  a  coronet,  she  arose  and  went  to  the  closet 
for  something.  Lo,  there  was  her  child  prone  upon  the 
floor,  disturbed  by  her  approach,  and  moaning  at  her 
feet. 

A  person  who  deliberately  does  wrong,  is  almost  sure 
to  be  angry  at  any  thing  calculated  to  touch  the  con- 
science. Mrs.  Mason's  cheeks  flushed  and  her  eyes 


342  THE     NECKLACE. 

flashed  at  the  sight  of  little  Rose.  She  was  tempted  to 
spurn  the  child  with  her  foot,  but  restrained  herself,  only 
touching  the  bare,  white  shoulder,  with  the  point  of  her 
slipper. 

"  Get  up,  child.  Get  up.  What  on  earth  are  you 
doing  here  ?" 

The  touch  awoke  Rose.  She  started  to  her  feet,  and 
tried  to  shrink  away. 

"  Stop,  you  naughty,  disobedient  child !"  cried  the 
mother,  seizing  her  by  the  shoulder.  "  You  don't  de- 
serve it ;  but  see  what  a  beautiful  present  Mr.  Thrasher 
has  brought  you — coral  and  pure  gold — for  your  arms 
and  neck.  There,  Rosey  posey,  don't  it  make  your  eyes 
dance  ?" 

The  little  girl's  eyes  did  sparkle  for  a  moment,  but 
directly  they  filled  with  tears. 

"  No,  mother  ;  it's  very  pretty,  but  I  don't  want  any 
thing,"  she  said,  timidly. 

The  mother  frowned. 

"  Go  to  Mrs.  Prior  this  instant,"  she  said  ;  "tell  her 
to  dress  you  in  the  India  muslin  frock  that  I  gave  out 
to  be  done  up.  Loop  the  sleeves  with  this  coral.  Mind 
and  let  Mr.  Thrasher  see  it  on  your  neck  and  arms. 
Oh,  Mrs.  Prior,  I'm  glad  you've  come !  Please  have  this 
child  properly  dressed.  There  are  the  ornaments  ;  gp, 
Rose,  I  have  no  time  to  spare ;  be  a  good  girl,  and  look 
pretty  to  please  mother." 

"  I'll — I'll  try,"  sobbed  the  child,  "  only  don't  make  me 
wear  them." 

"  Hush,  or  you'll  make  me  angry,  my  dear.  Mrs. 
Prior,  if  you  would  hurry  with  her,  and  help  me  a  little, 
I  really  am  so  nervous." 

"No  wonder,"  answered  Mrs.  Prior,  gravely,  "the 
whole  thing  is  so  sudden." 


THE     NECKLACE.  343 

"  Not  with  me,"  was  the  cold  answer.  "  The  day  was 
settled  the  last  time  Mr.  Thrasher  visited  us  ;  but  I  did 
not  think  it  necessary  to  make  it  a  subject  of  conversa- 
tion with  strangers." 

"  But  we  might  have  been  better  prepared,"  said  Mrs. 
Prior. 

"  Not  at  all  necessary,  as  we  go  away  in  an  hour  after 
the  ceremony  is  performed." 

"  Go  away,  Mrs.  Mason  ?" 

"Certainly." 

"And  little  Rose  ?" 

The  good  woman's  voice  trembled. 

"Ah,  she  will  stay  with  you,  heaven  only  knows  how 
long !  that  is,  if  you  will  keep  her — say  at  the  price  we 
have  been  paying  for  both.  She  will  have  the  piano  for 
practice,  and  you  can  keep  the  furniture  to  remember 
me  by." 

"  You  are  very  kind." 

"  Not  at  all ;  I  know  you  will  be  good  to  Rose." 

"  Indeed  I  will !" 

"And  give  her  every  accomplishment.  Remember, 
mone}^  is  of  no  consequence." 

"  That  which  you  offer  is  more  than  enough  to  pay 
for  all  the  knowledge  or  accomplishments  I  can  teach," 
^gaid  the  little  woman,  conscientiously. 

"If  it  isn't,  say  so,  and  we'll  double  it,"  answered 
Mrs.  Mason,  with  reckless  munificence.  "  There  is  gold 
enough  in  my  work-box  there  to  pay  for  three  or  four 
years,  if  we  do  not  send  for  her  before  that.  You  can 
take  box  and  all  after  we're  gone,  for  I  shall  leave  all 
these  things  behind  ;  it's  too  much  trouble  to  pack  them 
up.  Use  what  you  like,  and  cut  over  the  rest  for  Rose 
— the  dresses,  I  mean.  That  brown  silk  for  travelling 
\vill  bo  nil  I  shall  care  for  after  the  ceremony  is  ovci\" 


344  THE     NECKLACE. 

"  I  hardly  know  how  to  receive  this  liberality,"  said 
the  little  woman,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "It  don't 
seem  right  to  accept  it." 

"  Oh,  nonsense !  Be  a  mother  to  Rose,  and  seem  glad 
to  see  us  when  we  come  after  her.  You  have  been  very 
kind  to  me,  Mrs.  Prior,  and  I  feel  it  now,  indeed  I  do." 

There  was  a  touch  of  genuine  feeling  in  Mrs.  Mason's 
voice,  as  she  bent  forward  and  kissed  Mrs.  Prior  on  the 
cheek,  with  lips  that  were  red  and  dewy  as  rose-buds. 
In  her  selfishness,  she  had  not  noticed  Rose,  who  stood 
clinging  to  Mrs.  Prior's  dress,  growing  paler  and  paler 
at  each  word. 

"  Mother,  are  you  going  to  leave  me  all  alone !" 

There  was  so  much  of  sorrow  in  the  child's  voice  that 
it  reached  even  that  vain  heart. 

"Never  mind,  Roscy,  dear,"  said  the  mother,  kissing 
the  pale  lips  of  her  child.  "  It  wont  be  long ;  besides, 
Mrs.  Prior  loves  you  dearly,  and  will  be  very  kind." 

"Indeed  I  will,  darling,"  sobbed  the  little  woman. 
"  So  now  cheer  up,  Rose,  and  run  off  to  be  dressed," 
added  the  mother,  beginning  to  tire  of  the  scene ;  do 
try  and  help  me,  Mrs.  Prior,  and  see  that  your  husband 
is  ready ;  there  must  be  no  delay,  for  we  have  a  long 
ride  before  us." 

Mrs.  Prior  hurried  off  with  Rose  to  her  own  private  . 
room,  and  in  a  marvellous  short  time  the  little  girl  came 
forth  airy  as  a  butterfly.     The  red  coral  glowing  on  her 
face  and   neck,  the   India  muslin  floating  around   her 
like  a  cloud. 

Rose  met  Paul  in  the  upper  passage.  He  was  looking 
sadly  troubled.  She  went  toward  him  and  laid  her 
hand  in  his. 

"  You  are  going  ?"  he  said,  interpreting  the  act  from 
his  fears. 


THE     NECKLACE.  345 

"  No,  they  are  going,  Paul,  but  I  am  to  be  left  behind." 

The  boy  began  to  smile. 

"  And  Mrs.  Prior  will  be  your  mother  ?"  he  said. 

"Yes." 

"  Ah  !  I'm  so  happy,  so  glad  ;  let  me  go  tell  Jube." 

He  attempted  to  descend  the  stairs  but  came  back 
again. 

"  One  thing,  Rose.  I  should  like  to  see  this  gentle- 
man, Captain  Thrasher." 

"  Well,  he's  in  the  parlor." 

"  But  I  don't  want  him  to  see  me." 

"  Oh,  then  I  can't  help  you,  Paul — there's  no  way." 

Paul  looked  disappointed.  That  moment  Mrs.  Prior 
came  toward  them  from  Mrs.  Mason's  room. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Paul  ?"  she  inquired,  kindly. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  answered  Rose,  "  only  he  wants  to 
see  that  hateful  man." 

"  For  shame,  Rose!" 

"  Well,  he  wants  to  see  Captain  Thrasher,  and  he 
don't  want  Captain  Thrasher  to  see  him  !"  persisted 
Rose, 'shaking  her  head  with  pretty  defiance. 

"  He  wants  to  see  a  marriage — is  that  it  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Prior,  whose  kind  heart  was  always  prompting  her  to 
the  pleasure  of  others.  "  And  you  would  like  to  have  a 
peep  at  this  wedding?  Rose,  you  will  go  into  the 
room ;  but  it  is  to  be  very  private,  you  know,  and  I 
can't  let  you  in,  Paul." 

"  No,  no,  I  do  not  wish — I  only  want  to  see,"  cried 
the  boy,  eagerly ;  "  I  and  Jube — one  little  minute,  that 
is  all." 

Mrs.  Prior  smiled  and  dropped  into  a  moment's 
thought. 

'•  Well,"  she  said,  "as  you  have  set  your  heart  upon 


3i6  THE     NECKLACE. 

it,  Paul,  there  can  be  no  harm  in  letting  you  see  them 
married  so  long  as  it  disturbs  no  one.  There  is  the 
door  between  the  parlor  and  dining-room;  the  upper 
half  is  glass.  Just  lift  the  curtain  softly  and  look 
through  ;  but  remember,  there  must  be  no  talking  about 
it.  The  whole  thing  is  to  be  kept  secret." 

"  I  will  not  speak  to  any  one,  be  sure,"  said  Paul. 

"  Well,  be  in  your  room  and  I  will  call  you  at  the 
right  time,"  said  Mrs.  Prior ;  "  but  hurry  away,  now, 
for  she'll  be  going  down-stairs  in  a  minute." 

Paul  went  to  his  room.  Scarcely  had  he  disappeared 
when  Mrs.  Mason  came  forth ;  the  thick  silken  folds  of 
her  dress  rustling  sumptuously,  and  with  a  carcanet  of 
gems  flashing  its  tinted  flame  over  the  snow  of  her  neck 
and  shoulders. 

When  Rose  saw  her  mother  the  color  died  from  her 
face  and  she  shivered  as  if  with  cold.  Mrs.  Mason  was 
too  much  excited  to  heed  this.  Taking  the  little  hand 
in  hers,  she  led  the  child  down-stairs,  sweeping  through 
the  hall  like  a  sultana. 

Mrs.  Prior  was  struck  with  admiration  at  the*  splen- 
dor of  her  beauty,  but  depressed  by  this  display  of  mag- 
nificence for  a  wedding  which  was  to  be  strictly  private- 
Her  own  refined  taste  revolted  at  the  incongruity.  In- 
deed, Mrs.  Mason  herself  seemed  to  feel  something  of 
this,  for  she  blushed  even  while  giving  her  head  a  proud 
lift,  and  observed,  in  a  low  voice : 

"  He  would  insist  upon  it.  Nothing  is  rich  enough 
to  satisfy  him." 

Paul  found  Jube  in  his  room  when  he  entered  it. 

"  Be  ready,"  he  said.  "  We  shall  soon  know  if  it  is 
the  same  man." 

"But  he  may  claim  us,  and  say  that  I  am  his  slave 
again,"  said  Julie,  fi 


THE     NECKLACE. 

"  He  will  not  see  us.  There,  I  hear  the  minister  going 
down.  Be  ready.  Madame  is  coming  to  call  us." 

Mrs.  Prior  opened  the  door,  and  said :  "  Come,"  in  a 
quick,  nervous  whisper. 

Paul  and  Jube  followed  her  into  the  dining-room.  A 
crimson  curtain  hung  over  the  sash  which  filled  the 
upper  part  of  the  door.  Mrs.  Prior  drew  it  slightly  in- 
ward, leaving  a  crevice  on  each  side,  through  which 
Paul  and  Jube  could  see  all  that  went  forward  in  the 
parlor  without  fear  of  observation. 

The  couple  who  were  to  be  married,  sat  out  of  range 
of  the  window,  and  at  first  they  only  saw  the  minister 
saying  something  in  a  low  voice  to  Mrs.  Prior.  She 
went  out  and  returned  with  the  servant  girl,  who  hung 
shyly  around  the  door,  as  if  doubtful  of  the  part  she  was 
called  upon  to  perform.  Then  there  was  a  rustling  of 
silk,  a  general  movement,  and  Paul  saw  the  tyrant  of 
his  sea-life  standing  before  the  minister,  with  Mrs. 
Mason's  hand  clasped  in  his.  He  saw  more — for  the 
Venetian  blinds  fell  apart,  and  a  gleam  of  sunshine  quiv- 
ered across  the  gems  upon  the  bride's  neck.  A  shudder 
passed  over  him,  he  clung  to  a  neighboring  chair  for 
support,  and  breathlessly  looked  on.  Every  word  of 
that  awful  ceremony — for  it  was  awful  to  him — fell  upon 
the  boy's  heart.  When  it  was  ended,  and  the  woman 
turned  to  the  full  light,  a  sick  faintness  crept  over  him, 
and  he  fell  into  Jube's  arms  perfectly  insensible.  The 
sight  of  his  mother's  necklace  had  overpowered  the  boy 
with  terrible  memories. 


348  A    PALACE    BEADY. 

CHAPTER    XLIX. 

A   PALACE   READY   FOE   ITS   MISTRESS. 

AT  the  time  of  our  story,  New  York  Island  was  not 
so  thickly  crowded  with  habitations  as  it  is  to-day. 
Men  who  lived  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city  could  afford 
grounds  more  or  less  spacious  about  their  habitations. 
Gardens  were  no  uncommon  luxuries,  and  lawns  not  al- 
together unknown.  Just  far  enough  from  the  city  for 
retirement,  yet  sufficiently  near  for  easy  access,  stood 
a  large  mansion,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  Hud- 
son, and  was  surrounded  by  forest  trees,  which  had 
doubtless  sheltered  many  an  Indian  encampment.  Slop- 
ing lawns,  flower  gardens,  and  rustic  arbors  lent  glow 
and  richness  to  every  nook  and  vista  of  these  grounds. 
The  house — a  fine  old  family  mansion — had  been  reno- 
vated and  altered  so  completely,  since  it  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  present  proprietor,  that  the  most  inti- 
mate friend  of  the  former  owner  must  have  failed  to 
recognize  it. 

The  solid  stone  walls  had  been  faced  with  marble. 
The  small  paned  windows  had  given  place  to  broad  plate 
glass,  transparent  as  crystal.  "Wreaths  of  rich  sculp- 
ture broke  the  snow-white  front  around  the  doors  and 
windows,  while  heavy  scrolls  of  marble  rolled  down  the 
broad  entrance  steps,  and  antique  heads  enriched  the 
balconies.  Two  noble  lions,  with  slumbrous  limbs  and 
foamlike  manes,  crouched  on  the  lower  entrance  steps, 
and  graceful  vases,  overflowing  with  rare  and  flowering 
plants,  stood  on  either  hand  by  the  door. 


A    PALACE     READY.  349 

The  approach  to  this  house  was  by  a  lodge  gate,  and 
along  the  sweep  of  a  gravelled  carriage  road,  which  held 
a  beautiful  flower-garden  in  its  curve.  Every  thing 
about  the  dwelling  was  in  perfect  order — not  a  leaf  dis- 
turbed the  emerald  richness  of  the  grass,  not  a  broken 
flower  could  be  found  in  all  that  luxuriant  waste  of 
blossoms.  The  English  gardener  had  done  his  work 
perfectly.  There  was  not  a  footprint  on  the  gravel 
walk,  nor  a  stain  upon  the  whiteness  of  the  marble. 
Pure,  rich,  and  beautiful,  the  house  arose  amid  the  bloom 
and  shade  of  tall  trees  and  delicate  flowers,  like  some 
snow-white  palace  in  fairy-land. 

Every  thing  was  silent  within  this  house.  Servants 
moved  about,  it  is  true ;  but  they  were  too  well  trained 
for  any  thing  like  confusion,  and  a  state  of  expectation 
kept  them  unusually  quiet.  The  housekeeper  went  from 
room  to  room,  anxious  that  nothing  should  be  out  of 
place,  and  a  little  nervous  in  her  desire  to  please  a  mis- 
tress whom  she  had  never  seen. 

The  truth  is,  that  the  household  was  in  a  state  of 
more  general  ignorance  regarding  the  persons  they  were 
hired  to  serve  than  usually  falls  to  people  of  their  class  ; 
but  what  was  more  remarkable,  they  knew  as  much,  and 
more  of  their  master  than  any  of  the  neighbors,  with 
whom  he  was  an  object  of  no  little  curiosity. 

Mr.  Nelson  had  come  upon  the  neighborhood  sud- 
denly, whether  from  the  east,  west,  north  or  south,  no  one 
could  pretend  to  say.  Of  course  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  conjecture.  A  man  of  vast  wealth  and  liberal  educa- 
tion he  certainly  was  ;  fine  looking  too,  after  a  peculiar 
style.  Besides  this,  he  appeared  quite  young  enough  to 
be  considered  a  desirable  match  for  the  most  fastidious 
belle  in  any  one  of  the  hundred  and  fifty  circles  that 


350  A    PALACE     READY. 

dispute  the  palm  of  aristocracy  year  by  year,  without 
settling  the  question  among  themselves. 

He  had  bought  the  old  mansion  house,  paid  for  it  in 
cash,  and  taken  up  his  residence  in  one  wing,  while  the 
alterations  we  have  spoken  of  were  going  on.  As  a 
bachelor  his  habits  were  very  simple  and  his  words  few. 

The  best  artisans  were  employed,  and  the  most  ex- 
pensive books  on  gardening  and  architecture  lay  upon 
the  table  in  his  room.  He  studied  these  books  night 
and  day,  for  some  weeks  before  the  persons  necessary 
to  his  work  were  called  around  him.  When  they  came 
at  last,  he  was  prepared  not  only  to  take  specifications, 
but  to  suggest  them,  and  that  with  an  air  of  knowledge 
that  won  profound  respect  from  the  persons  with  whom 
he  conversed. 

It  was  impossible  to  tell,  by  this  man's  manners  or 
conversation,  what  his  business  in  life  had  been.  He 
was  always  on  his  guard  against  the  intrusiveness  of 
curiosity,  always  gentle,  or  rather  stolidly  quiet ;  but 
once  or  twice,  when  a  man  conceited  in  his  art  had 
ventured  to  contradict  him,  the  frown  upon  his  forehead 
had  proved  an  ominous  warning  which  no  one  cared  to 
provoke  a  second  time. 

During  some  months  he  had  lived  entirely  at  the  old 
mansion,  watching  its  gradual  transfiguration  and  super- 
intending the  changes  with  untiring  assiduity.  Two  or 
three  times  he  had  been  absent  for  several  days,  but  no 
one  knew  where,  and  he  gave  no  notice  either  of  his  in- 
tended departure  or  return. 


COMING     HOME     OF     THE     BRIDE.        351 


CHAPTER    L. 

COMING    HOME    OP   THE   BRIDE. 

AT  last,  when  every  thing  was  complete,  and  the 
place  stood  out  a  paradise  in  comparison  with  the 
most  beautiful  residences  of  the  city,  circumstances 
arose  that  inflamed  anew  the  curiosity  of  the  household. 
The  entrance  was  haunted  by  tradespeople,  bringing 
packages  that  could  only  prove  useful  to  a  lady.  All 
this  was  a  fitting  preparation  for  the  very  quiet  orders 
which  Mr.  Nelson  gave  to  his  housekeeper,  just  as  he 
stepped  into  his  carriage  one  morning. 

"  Hare  every  thing  in  readiness,  Mrs.  Ford,"  he  said, 
"  fo*  on  the  third  day  from  this  I  shall  bring  my  wife 
home." 

Mrs.  Ford  was  a  nice  old  English  housekeeper, 
brought  up  with  profound  reverence  for  her  employers, 
and  early  taught  the  useful  lesson  of  minding  her  own 
business,  one  of  the  most  valuable  secrets  known  to  so- 
ciety. Had  this  been  otherwise  she  could  have  com- 
manded no  time  for  asking  questions,  for  while  making 
this  announcement,  Mr.  Nelson  stepped  into  the  car- 
riage, and  drove  off  without  vouchsafing  another  word. 

Mrs.  Ford  went  back  to  the  quiet  performance  of  her 
duties,  wondering  a  little  what  kind  of  a  person  this 
new  mistress  would  prove,  and  doubtful  whether  it  was 
a  bride  or  a  wife  of  long  standing,  whom  she  would  be 
called  upon  to  obey. 

The  appointed  days  passed  by,  and  the  whole  house- 
hold, as  I  have  said,  was  in  a  state  of  expectation.  A 


352        COMING    HOME     OF     THE     BRIDE. 

low  hum  came  up  from  the  city,  as  if  a  vast  hive  of  bees 
were  swarming,  but  the  sound  was  so  distant  and  faint, 
that  it  rather  deepened  the  quiet  of  the  place.  All  at 
once  the  noise  of  wheels  inside  the  lodge  gate  sounded 
distinct,  and  grew  stronger,  till  a  carriage,  from  which 
a  lady  looked  forth  with  every  appearance  of  keen  in- 
terest, swept  up  to  the  front  entrance. 

Mr.  Nelson  stepped  out  of  the  carriage,  looking 
almost  nervously  anxious. 

"  This  is  our  home,  Ellen.  Tell  me  that  you  like  it, 
and  will  be  happy  here,"  said  the  master  of  the  mansion, 
holding  her  hand  tightly  as  they  stood  on  the  lower  step 
together. 

The  lady  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  beautiful  facade,  and 
for  the  moment  seemed  overpowered  by  its  great  beauty. 

"  Why,  Nelson,  this  is  a  palace,"  she  said,  while  a 
glow  of  triumphant  vanity  spread  over  her  face.  • 

"To  what  else  should  I  bring  my  queen?"  he  an- 
swered, bending  his  flushed  face  toward  her  and  speak- 
ing in  a  voice  that  thrilled  with  passionate  tenderness. 
"  Oh,  Ellen,  my  wife,  if  you  desired  the  stars  of  heaven 
I  would  strive  to  reach  them  for  you." 

"  How  very,  very  beautiful  it  is !"  she  exclaimed, 
gazing  around  with  triumph  beaming  in  her  face,  utterly 
ignoring  his  passionate  outburst.  "  I  have  dreamed  of 
such  places,  but  never  saw  them.  Nelson,  we  shall  live 
like  princes  here  !" 

"Princes  are  not  always  happy,"  he  said,  smiling 
upon  her  in  a  way  that  only  a  naturally  grave  man  ever 
smiles.  "  But  we,  Ellen,  we  will  let  neither  discord  or 
care  come  near  us.  If  gold  can  hedge  us  in  we  will 
heap  walls  so  high  that  nothing  but  love  can  reach  us." 

"Ah,  these  are  not  dreams,"  she  said,  drawing  a  deep 


COMING     HOME     OF     THE    BRIDE.        353 

breath.  "  The  man  who  has  power  enough  to  create  a 
palace  like  this,  makes  no  false  boast  when  he  talks  of 
golden  walls." 

She  stood  a  moment,  drinking  in  the  scene  with 
greedy  admiration.  Then,  for  the  first  time  that  day, 
she  turned  her  eyes  full  upon  Nelson's  face,  and  smiled 
upon  him. 

"You  are  pleased,  my  wife." 

"  I  am  delighted,  Nelson." 

" Nelson  1  when  I  call  you  wife?"  he v said,  with  re- 
proachful tenderness. 

"Well,  husband." 

As  the  word  left  her  lips  an  unaccountable  pallor 
spread  over  both  their  faces.  Instead  of  the  happiness 
he  expected,  the  husband  of  two  days  felt  a  pang  so 
heavy  that  it  made  him  shrink ;  and  the  woman — she 
had. uttered  the  word  before,  and  under  different  sur- 
roundings ! 

With  a  sudden  and  heavy  cloud  upon  them  these 
persons  turned  from  each  other  without  speaking,  and 
mounted  the  steps. 

To  have  seen  Mrs.  Nelson  passing  along  the  tressel- 
lated  floor  of  the  vestibule,  where  the  servants  were 
gathered  to  receive  her,  you  would  have  believed  that 
she  had  trod  on  Gobelin  carpets  all  her  life.  The  good 
housekeeper,  who  had  dwelt  in  the  atmosphere  of  nobility 
from  her  cradle  up,  was  absolutely  struck  dumb  by  the 
queenliness  of  her  presence,  and  thought  in  her  heart 
that  the  new  mistress  must  have  come  from  abroad,  or 
at  least  have  been  educated  there. 

Mrs.  Nelson  saw  the  impression  she  had  made,  and 
this  gave  graciousness  to  her  presence  which  completely 
subdued  the  group  of  dependants  into  admiration.  She 
22 


354        COMING     HOME     OF    THE     BRIDE. 

said  a  few  patronizing  words  to  each,  and  passing 
through  the  vestibule,  entered  upon  her  new  life  with  a 
degree  of  graceful  self-possession  which  astonished  even 
her  husband. 

And  now  commenced  a  career  such  as  few  persons 
ever  carried  out  so  triumphantly.  Mrs.  Nelson  had 
wealth,  unbounded  beauty,  education  quite  sufficient 
for  the  demands  of  fashion,  and  a  craving  ambition  for 
notoriety,  which  was  sure  to  make  its  way.  Gold,  in 
America,  proves  a  sure  road  to  this  kind  of  distinction, 
and  the  great  lever  of  republican  society  was  used  with- 
out stint  or  measure  in  this  singular  household. 

Mrs.  Nelson  had  seized  on  the  insinuation,  half  put 
as  a  question  by  the  housekeeper,  regarding  her  foreign 
appearance,  and  accepted  it  as  a  truth — nay,  more — so 
absorbing  was  her  vanity  that  she  allowed  it  to  be  under- 
stood that  the  great  wealth  which  astonished  everybody 
came  into  Mr.  Nelson's  hands  through  her  own  munifi- 
cent affection ;  an  idea  that  Mr.  Nelson  rather  encour- 
aged by  his  silence  and  entire  submission  to  her  will  in 
all  things. 

It  was  not  many  months  before  the  beautiful  Mrs. 
Nelson  became  a  star  of  magnitude  in  the  fashionable 
circles  of  New  York.  Of  course  she  was  an  object  of 
great  interest;  when  curious  persons  inquired  about 
her  origin,  they  were  answered  that  she  was  an  Ameri- 
can by  birth,  but  had  spent  most  of  her  life  abroad  with 
her  first  husband,  who  had  left  her  a  young  and  beautiful 
widow  with  enormous  wealth.  This  wealth  she  had  be- 
stowed on  Mr.  Nelson,  who,  after  travelling  all  over  the 
world,  had  fallen  in  love  with  her  at  first  sight,  and  still 
regarded  her  with  a  sort  of  adoration,  as  erwybody 
could  see. 


THE     DAY     BEFORE     TRIAL.  355 

If  there  was  any  thing  hollow  or  false  in  all  this,  the 
most  intimate  person  in  that  magnificent  household 
never  could  find  the  proof.  True,  Mr.  Nelson  was  not 
a  gay  or  particularly  cheerful  husband,  but  that  might 
be  said  of  a  thousand  other  men  with  dashing  wives  ;  it 
was,  after  all,  a  matter  of  constitution  only.  Certainly 
the  lady  was  altogether  the  most  popular  of  the  two. 
The  material  style  of  her  beauty  was  of  that  sumptuous 
order  which  wealth  embellishes  to  its  greatest  perfec- 
tion. She  was  witty,  gay,  and  for  all  the  superficial 
uses  of  society,  a  fascinating  woman,  whom  the  most 
ultra  among  the  fashionable,  were  glad  to  recognize  as 
a  leader.  Thus,  unlimited  control  of  wealth,  and  un- 
flinching assurance,  placed  the  widow  Mason,  in  a  few 
short  months,  in  the  very  heart  of  our  Metropolitan 
society. 


CHAPTER    LI. 

THE   DAY   BEFORE   TRIAL. 

THERE  is  no  unendurable  sorrow  which  is  not  the 
cut-growth  of  some  sin.  A  peaceful  conscience  cannot 
be  rendered  altogether  miserable,  place  it  where  you  will. 
You  would  not  have  suspected  that  the  fair  young 
creature  who  sat  within  those  prison  bars  from  morning 
till  night,  when  her  misery  was  lost  in  the  darkness,  had 
been  charged  with  the  dread  crime  of  murder.  Indeed, 
a  person  with  quick  sensibilities  might  have  regarded 
her  rather  as  some  gentle  martyr,  waiting  to  seal  her 
faith  by  sublime  suffering,  for  a  more  heavenly  face  than 


356  THE     DAY     BEFORE     TRIAL. 

hers  never  appeared  behind  the  rusted  gratings  of  a 
dungeon. 

Up  to  this  time,  Katharine  had  been  a  bright  and 
very  beautiful  girl ;  such  graces  as  youth,  bloom,  and 
cheerfulness  give,  she  had  possessed  in  perfection,  but 
she  was  something  more  now.  The  roses  had  died  on 
her  cheeks,  but  a  pure  whiteness  rested  there,  more 
lovely  by  far.  The  dimples  had  faded  from  the  corners 
of  her  mouth,  but  an  expression  of  holy  sweetness  was 
left  behind,  that  sometimes  deepened  to  a  smile  when 
any  one  spoke  to  her  with  unusual  kindness.  But  her 
eyes — those  who  have  seen  the  original  Beatrice  Cenci, 
where  it  hangs  an  embodied  sorrow  in  that  old  Roman 
palace,  would  ask  no  farther  description  of  the  look 
which  slept  forever  in  the  deep  blue  orbs  of  the  Ameri- 
can girl ;  there  was,  indeed,  a  difference  to  be  felt  rather 
than  portrayed.  Through  all  the  exquisite  sadness  in 
those  eyes,  a  terrible  remembrance  sleeps,  which  leads 
you  to  forgive,  but  not  altogether  acquit,  the  Cenci. 
But  with  Katharine  nothing  but  sublime  innocence  lay 
beneath  the  sorrow.  The  expression  of  the  living  eyes 
was  mournful  as  those  of  the  immortal  picture,  but  you 
looked  upon  them  with  less  pain. 

Thus  in  the  twilight  of  her  prison  she  sat  reading  the 
family  Bible,  which  had  been  brought  to  that  place  by 
her  mother.  It  was  an  old  book,  worn  with  much  hand- 
ling, the  paper  yellow  with  age,  and  the  leathern  cover 
broke  at  the  corners.  Since  Katharine's  remembrance, 
this  Bible  had  occupied  the  round  candle  stand  by  her 
mother's  bed.  When  that  singular  woman  first  entered 
the  prison,  after  giving  up  her  home,  she  laid  this  most 
precious  of  her  treasures  upon  the  young  girl's  lap, 
without  speaking  a  word.  Katharine  knew  what  this 


THE     DAY     BEFORE     TRIAL.  357 

act  imported,  and  bowed  her  fair  head  in  thankfulness, 
for  she  sorely  lacked  the  comfort  those  holy  pages  might 
bring. 

Katharine  had  never  been  a  great  reader,  but  her  in- 
tellect was  clear,  and  her  heart,  rendered  earnest  by  suf- 
fering, seized  upon  the  solemn  truths  of  that  book  as  a 
flower  absorbs  the  air  and  sunshine,  until  she  grew 
strong  beneath  their  lessons. 

Not  long  after  that  Bible  was  laid  in  her  lap,  much 
of  the  horrible  dread  of  death  went  out  from  her  soul. 
In  its  holy  pages  she  found  how  tranquilly  innocence 
could  die,  how  trustfully  it  could  repose  in  the  hands  of 
God,  and  from  that  day  the  sublime  beauty  that  I  have 
mentioned  dawned  on  her  face. 

Thus,  as  I  said  awhile  ago,  Katharine  sat  in  her 
prison,  reading.  The  Bible  lay  open  on  her  lap";  but 
while  her  eyelids  drooped,  and  their  lashes  shaded  those 
deep  blue  orbs,  they  were  tinged  with  the  depths  of  their 
color,  as  violets  cast  purple  shadows  where  the  sun 
touches  them.  The  golden  tresses  of  her  hair,  embraided 
around  her  head,  scintillated  the  sunbeams  that  fell 
through  her  prison  bars  like  a  glory.  Her  dress  was 
white  dimity,  a  fabric  much  worn  in  those  days,  which 
fell  heavily  around  her  like  the  marble  drapery  of  a 
statue.  Thus  she  was  surrounded  with  a  whiteness 
which  threw  her  figure  out  in  strong  relief  from  a  back- 
ground of  shadows  gathering  on  the  walls  of  her  dun- 
geon. 

As  the  last  sunbeam  left  the  heavy  bars  that  rusted 
across  the  window,  she  lifted  her  eyes  and  waited,  with 
one  hand — alas !  snow-white  from  confinement — resting 
upon  the  open  page.  A  footstep  near  the  door,  and  the 
jingle  of  keys,  had  disturbed  her.  She  looked  earnestly 


358  THE     DAY     BEFORE     TRIAL. 

toward  the  noise  until  the  door  opened.  Then  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face  grew  animated.  She  laid  the  Bible 
down  upon  her  bed,  and  moved  forward  with  both  hands 
extended. 

"  You  have  come ;  ah,  I  knew  it ;  when  did  you  break 
a  promise. v 

The  old  man  who  entered  took  her  hand  softly  be- 
tween his  two  hard  palms,  and  glancing  at  the  open 
Bible,  said : 

"  You  were  well  employed,  child ;  I  can  bring  you  no 
better  company  than  that." 

Katharine  looked  back  upon  the  Bible,  smiling  faintly, 
the  only  way  she  ever  smiled  in  those  days. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  said  ;  "  but  you  look  pale,  have 
you  brought  news  for  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  old  Mrs.  Thrasher,  coming  forward 
and  kissing  the  prisoner,  "he  brings  news,  but  keep  a 
good  heart.  God  is  above  all." 

Katharine  bent  her  head  an  instant  and  stood  before 
them  in  silence,  then  she  looked  gravely  up  and  said  : 

"  Is  it  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  Katharine,  it  is  to-morrow ;  are  you  ready  ?" 
answered  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,  father,  I  am  ready." 

Her  voice  was  low,  but  clear  as  the  fall  of  water- 
drops. 

"  I  am  ready  to  live  or  to  die  as  God  shall  will  it. 
Our  Lord  has  told  me  how  to  do  both." 

"Blessed  be  his  holy  name!"  broke  forth  the  old 
man. 

"Amen,"  whispered  the  gentle  woman  by  his  side. 

Katharine  clasped  her  hands  and  lifted  her  eyes 
upward,  while  her  lips  moved  silently. 


THE     DAY     BEFORE     TRIAL.  359 

"  We  have  good  counsel ;  every  thing  has  been  done 
that  lies  within  mortal  power,"  said  Mr.  Thrasher. 

"  I  know  it.  The  lawyers  were  here  questioning  me. 
They  told  me  it  might  be  soon,  but  to-morrow — that  is 
sudden." 

"But  it  will  be  over  in  a  little  while,"  said  Mrs. 
Thrasher,  anxious  to  throw  in  her  mite  of  consolation. 

"  Yes,  it  will  be  over,  and  then " 

Katharine's  voice  trembled.  She  was  so  young,  poor 
thing,  and  sometimes  her  timid  nature  fell  away  from 
the  faith  that  gave  it  strength,  and  shuddered  at  the 
death  before  her. 

"  Then  and  now  we  must  put  our  faith  in  Him,"  an- 
swered the  old  man,  with  tender  solemnity. 

"  I  know— I  do,  father !" 

There  was  something  very  sweet  in  the  way  she  ut- 
tered this  little  word  "father."  Indeed,  Katharine  had 
been  brought  to  trust  in  the  old  man  so  thoroughly 
that  she  followed  him  as  a  lamb  keeps  by  the  side  of  its 
shepherd.  But  for  his  mild,  firm  teachings,  the  poor 
child  must  have  fallen  under  the  burden  of  her  misfoi*- 
tunes,  and  the  sorrow  of  her  young  life  might  have  taken 
a  different  course. 

"What  is  sorrow,  what  is  death  itself,  compared  to 
the  pangs  of  guilt,  my  child  ?" 

"  I  know,  father,  but  death  seems  terrible  to  me  some- 
times when  I  am  alone  here  in  the  night." 

Mrs.  Thrasher  began  to  sob  and  Mrs.  Allen  looked 
down  upon  her  child  in  pale  grief. 

"Ah,  why  cannot  I,  who  am  old,  and  used  to  trouble, 
take  her  place,"  she  said,  drearily. 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  want  courage.  At  first,  when  they  left 
me,  I  was  a  coward,  but  it  is  not  so  of  late,  at  least  not 
often.  Something  here  grows  stronger  every  day." 


860  THE     DAY     BEFORE     TRIAL. 

The  girl  laid  one  hand  on  her  heart,  while  a  soft  glow 
came  to  her  face. 

"And  that  is  faith,"  said  Mr.  Thrasher. 

"  It  seems  like  a  living  presence  ;  as  if  my  babe  had 
turned  to  an  angel,  and  were  folding  its  wings  here. 
How  can  any  one  think  I  killed  it — I  who  gloried  so  in 
being  its  mother." 

"  We  know  that  you  never  harmed  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Allen.  "  That  is  one  comfort,  my  child." 

"  No,  no  ;  we  never  thought  it,  neither  your  father  nor 
your  two  mothers,"  said  Mrs.  Thrasher,  planting  her- 
self by  Mrs.  Allen's  side ;  thus  suggesting  her  own  right 
to  be  considered. 

"It  is  strange,"  said  Katharine,  thoughtfully,  "very 
strange  that  any  one  can  believe  such  things  of  a  poor 
girl.  I  am  sure  no  woman  in  the  world  ever  got  this 
idea  of  herself." 

"No  woman  would  have  the  heart  to  think  it,"  mut- 
tered Mrs.  Thrasher ;  "but  the  law,  that  is  stern  and 
cruel  enough  for  any  thing." 

"  To-morrow  it  will  prove  cruel  with  me,  I  am  sure," 
said  Katharine;  "when  they  took  me  away  from  home 
the  little  children  looked  after  me  as  if  there  was  blood 
on  my  clothes.  It  made  my  heart  ache  to  see  their 
frightened  faces  at  the  windows  as  the  wagon  went  by. 
If  children  can  judge  one  so  harshly,  what  will  a  court 
full  of  stern  men  do." 

"  The  men  who  look  so  stem  are  sometimes  very  kind 
at  heart,"  said  Mr.  Thrasher. 

Katharine  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  face. 

"  You  will  be  there,  father,  and  you — and  you,  my 
mothers  ?" 

"Yes,  Katharine,  we  will  be  there,"  said  both  the 
women  at  once. 


THE     DAY     BEFORE     TRIAL.  361 

"  And  a  greater  than  they  will  be  there,  Katharine," 
added  the  old  man,  solemnly,  and  resting  one  hand  on 
her  head  a  moment,  he  turned  away. 

The  two  women  saw  that  his  lip  quivered  as  he  passed, 
through  the  door,  but  to  Katharine  he  was  an  embodi- 
ment of  sublime  strength,  and  it  took  away  half  her 
courage  when  his  shadow  disappeared  from  the  threshold 
of  her  prison.  Alas,  she  was  nothing  but  a  girl,  timid 
from  v,-;iut  of  experience,  and  greatly  dependent  for 
strength  on  those  she  loved.  When  Katharine  Allen 
was  left  alone  she  began  to  realize  that  the  day  of  her 
great  trouble  was  near  at  hand.  A  faintness  like  that 
of  death  itself  crept  over  her,  and  she  sat  down  in  the 
midst  of  her  dungeon  chamber,  sinking  down  upon  the 
floor  in  a  wild,  dreary  way,  that  would  have  brought 
tears  to  the  eyes  of  her  worst  enemy. 

By  many  an  anxious  question  she  had  won  from  the 
jailer  a  general  knowledge  of  the  forms  which  attend  a 
criminal  trial.  She  knew  that  crowds  of  curious  people, 
perhaps  coarse-hearted  people,  would  jostle  her  on  the 
way  to  prison — that  scores  on  scores  of  eyes  would  fol- 
low her  with  hate  and  loathing.  She  saw  the  band  of 
jurors  grasping  her  life  in  their  will,  listening  with  heavy 
countenances  to  the  evidence  of  a  crime  that  was  not 
hers,  but  of  which  it  seemed  impossible  that  any  human 
tribunal  could  absolve  her. 

Then,  going  to  and  from  the  trial,  little  children 
would  look  up  at  her  as  they  had  done  when  she  passed 
the  red  school-house  at  Shrub  Oak,  some  with  timid 
pity,  others  with  coarse  amazement,  and  others  still 
ready  to  break  forth  into  hoots  and  sneers,  as  if  some 
abhorrent  animal  had  crossed  their  path.  These  thoughts 
were  hard  to  endure.  She  had  so  dearly  ly\'ed,  iilliu. 


362    THE    STREETS    AND    COURT    HOUSE. 

children,  and  turned  so  naturally  for  affection  toward 
all  living  things,  that  the  edict  of  hate,  though  un- 
deserved, made  her  shrink  with  absolute  pain. 

She  took  up  her  Bible  and  tried  to  read,  but  the  let- 
ters ran  together  on  the  page,  harassing  her  sight,  but 
giving  back  no  sense.  Thus  the  evening  found  her 
going  out  into  blank  space  till  the  darkness  crept 
through  her  prison  bars  and  fell  over  her  like  a  pall. 


CHAPTER    LII. 

THE  STREETS  AND  THE  COURT  HOUSE. 

THE  next  day  found  a  crowd  around  the  court  house, 
hours  before  the  time  for  opening — an  eager-eyed,  jost- 
ling throng,  to  whom  a  trial  for  life  was  sure  to  bring 
keen  excitement  of  some  kind.  In  a  Puritan  State, 
where  places  of  amusement  are  seldom  found,  any  thing 
calculated  to  excite  public  curiosity  is  an  event  which 
makes  the  most  painful  occasions  a  sort  of  holiday  for 
the  populace.  The  horrible  fascination  which  a  trial  like 
that  always  possesses  for  the  human  mind  was  added  to 
other  feelings  with  which  the  people  of  that  day  fre- 
quented the  courts  of  justice,  and  any  trial  which  had  a 
tragic  interest  for  the  people,  drew  crowds  around  the 
court  house,  full  of  eager  curiosity,  and  sometimes 
almost  ferocious  excitement — crowds  which  watched  the 
progress  of  events  like  men  enthralled  by  the  horror  of 
a  terrible  play. 

The  events  which  caused  the  arrest  of  Katharine  Al- 


THE    STREETS    AND    COURT    HOUSE.   363 

len  had  been  a  favorite  theme  of  conversation  for  months. 
Public  excitement  was  at  its  highest  pitch ;  and,  when 
the  day  of  her  trial  came,  a  stranger,  passing  through 
the  streets,  might  have  believed  that  some  event  was 
transpiring  in  which  the  highest  interests  of  the  whole 
community  were  at  stake. 

A  crowd  gathered  about  the  old  jail,  which  loomed  up 
in  the  midst  of  the  town — a  dark  monument  of  human 
sorrow  and  human  crime.  A  moving  throng  was  in 
every  street  which  led  from  thence  to  the  court  house — • 
men,  women,  and  little  children,  brought  out  as  for  a 
holiday  show,  all  waiting,  breathless  and  eager,  for  the 
appearance  of  the  poor  girl  they  were  ready  to  hunt  to 
an  ignominious  death. 

Now  and  then  you  passed  a  face  that  looked  grave  or 
sad,  as  if  the  moral  lesson  of  that  trial  was  felt,  and  not 
without  sympathy  for  the  poor  young  creature  who  was 
to  be  its  object. 

The  crowd  had  been  waiting  for  hours,  and  so  singu- 
larly organized  is  this  miserable  human  nature  of  ours, 
so  dependent  are  our  feelings  upon  the  position  in  which 
we  are  placed,  so  completely  do  our  sympathies  waver 
to  and  fro,  according  to  our  particular  situation,  that  it 
was  noticeable,  as  time  wore  on,  that  murmurs  grew 
harsher  and  more  sullen.  The  hard  faces  grew  harder ; 
even  those  which  had  expressed  something  akin  to  pity 
lost  their  softness,  and  wherever  a  knot  of  such  women 
as  love  scenes  of  this  kind  were  gathered,  execrations 
and  complaints  against  the  criminal  were  the  most 
severe  and  cruel. 

At  last  there  was  a  little  bustle  in  the  jail  yard  ;  the 
crowd  responded  by  eager  murmurs.  Slowly  the  heavy 
gates  swung  open ;  a  simultaneous  rush  was  made 


364   THE    STREETS    AND    COURT    HOUSE. 

toward  them,  and  it  required  all  the  efforts  of  the  armed 
constables  to  force  back  the  eager  mob. 

At  length,  a  passage  was  made  down  the  street,  and  the 
crowd  pushed  back  on  either  side.  Then  slowly,  with 
a  dull,  ominous  sound,  a  wagon,  drawn  by  a  single  horse, 
rolled  out  of  the  jail  yard  and  took  its  way  through  the 
street. 

In  this  wagon,  with  an  officer  upon  either  side,  sat 
Katharine  Allen. 

She  was  deadly  pale,  her  sunny  hair,  too  bright  for  a 
scene  like  that,  was  brushed  smoothly  back  under  her 
bonnet ;  a  large  shawl  was  thrown  over  her  white  dress, 
and  she  sat  between  her  guards  so  still  and  silent  that 
she  hardly  seemed  conscious  of  her  position,  or  terrified 
by  the  danger  which  gathered  closer  and  closer  about 
her. 

A  new  murmur  of  pity  went  up  from  the  people  who 
thronged  the  sidewalks.  In  her  statue-like  quiet,  the 
girl  looked  so  young  and  fair,  it  appeared  incredible 
that  she  could  have  been  guilty  of  the  crime  with  which 
she  was  charged. 

At  that  sound,  Katharine  raised  her  head  quickly, 
her  great  eyes  wandered  to  and  fro,  hopeless,  helpless, 
a  vivid  crimson  swept  over  her  whole  countenance,  then 
it  faded  almost  as  quickly  as  it  came,  leaving  the  features 
paler  than  before.  With  a  low  moan,  the  poor  young 
creature  closed  her  eyes,  her  lips  moved  tremulously. 
Amid  all  the  terror  of  that  scene — with  judgment  and 
death  so  near — a  calm,  such  as  she  had  not  before  felt, 
settled  down  upon  her  soul. 

I  do  believe  that  in  that  hour  of  supreme  agony,  God 
sent  His  angels  to  whisper  comfort  and  peace.  By  no 
human  law  could  one  have  accounted  for  the  change 
which  came  over  her. 


THE    STREETS    AND     COURT    HOUSE.   865 

On  through  the  street  passed  the  little  cortege,  the 
constables  marching  in  front,  and  pushing  aside  the 
people,  who,  faithful  to  their  New  England  instincts, 
yielded  almost  ungrumblingly  to  the  dictates  of  those 
armed  with  the  power  they  sd  reverenced — that  of  the 
law. 

Katharine  did  not  look  up  again ;  the  deathly  pallor 
had  left  her  face ;  but  around  the  lips,  which  still  moved 
at  intervals,  a  smile  had  settled  like  a  ray  of  sunlight. 

It  was  a  glorious  morning ;  the  sun  lay  golden  and 
warm  upon  the  town ;  it  fell  caressingly  upon  the  girl 
in  the  prison  wagon,  revealing  her  broadly  to  the  rude 
gaze  of  those  curious  eyes. 

As  they  approached  the  court  house,  the  crowd  grew 
denser.  The  wagon  moved  more  and  more  slowly,  and 
the  people  grew  keenly  eager,  as  if  curiosity  and  interest 
had  reached  a  climax  when  the  victim  was  about  dis- 
appearing from  their  sight. 

The  court  rotmi  was  a  bare,  gloomy  apartment,  where 
every  thing  seemed  to  deepen  the  usual  horror  connected 
with  such  a  place — a  dark  chamber  where  the  shadows 
never  wholly  dispersed.  No  matter  how  brightly  the 
sun  shone  without,  the  golden  radiance  broke  against  the 
window  panes,  as  if  frightened  by  the  appearance  of  the 
place,  and  in  passing  through  the  dusty  windows, 
seemed  to  lose  all  brilliancy  and  warmth. 

On  that  day  it  was  packed  with  a  dense  crowd, 
all  waiting  eagerly  for  the  entrance  of  the  girl  whose 
conviction  they  had  come  to  witness. 

Every  one  was  there — the  judge  upon  his  bench,  cold 
and  silent  as  a  marble  image  of  justice ;  the  jury  in 
their  box,  and,  a  little  way  off,  the  witnesses. 

Mrs  Allen  sat  by  the  side  of  old  Mr.  Thrasher ;  he 


366    THE    STREETS    AND    COURT    HOUSE. 

had  taken  her  hand,  meaning  to  speak  some  last  word 
of  consolation,  but  the  agony  in  her  eyes  froze  the 
words  upon  his  lips ;  he  could  only  hold  fast  to  that 
withered  hand,  which  in  her  anguish  she  wrenched  away 
from  him,  impatient  everTof  sympathy. 

The  dead  silence  of  the  court  room  was  broken  by  a 
dull  murmur  from  without,  through  which  the  rattle  of 
the  wagon  wheels  was  distinctly  audible. 

A  sound  upon  the  stairs — the  tread  of  heavy  feet, 
and  the  door  swung  slowly  upon  its  hinges.  A  shiver 
ran  through  Mrs.  Allen's  frame ;  she  sank  heavily  back, 
moaning.  She  knew  that  her  child  had  been  brought 
in  ;  she  heard  the  bustle  with  which  they  placed  her  in 
the  criminal's  seat,  but  when  she  tried  to  raise  her  eyes 
it  seemed  as  if  the  lids  had  turned  to  iron. 

When  silence  was  again  restored  she  made  one  violent 
effort  and  looked  up.  Katharine  was  sitting  still  and 
white  in  her  place  of  shame.  The  mother  half  rose, 
with  a  vague  impulse  to  rush  forward  and  save  her 
child.  That  moment  Katharine  lifted  her  heavy  eyes, 
and  met  that  longing  gaze — unconsciously  she  extended 
her  arms. 

"  Mother  I  oh,  mother!" 

The  words  died  on  those  white  lips  in  a  moan  so  faint 
that  it  failed  to  reach  the  most  eager  listener.  Then 
the  stern  old  woman  leaned  heavily  back  in  her  seat, 
and  fainted  away  so  quietly  that  no  human  soul  was 
aware  of  it. 


THE    DOCTOR'S    EVIDENCE.         367 

CHAPTER  LIU. 

THE  DOCTOR'S  EVIDENCE 

OUT  upon  the  steps  of  the  court  house  were  a  couple 
of  men  who  had  been  Mrs.  Allen's  neighbors,  and  had 
known  Katharine  from  childhood.  There  they  stood, 
unable  to  gain  entrance  to  the  court — talking  one  to  the 
other  in  subdued  voices. 

At  last,  a  man  from  the  same  neighborhood  forced  his 
way  through  the  crowd  upon  the  stairs  and  hurried  up 
to  the  spot  where  they  stood. 

The  men  turned  toward  him  with  eager  questions, 
while  he  wiped  his  face  with  a  huge  silk  pocket  handker- 
chief, breathing  hard,  like  a  man  who  had  been  engaged 
in  some  painful  struggle. 

"  How  do  they  get  on,  Mr.  Amos  ?"  asked  one  of  the 
men. 

"  They've  just  had  her  mother  up,"  he  answered,  in  a 
low  voice.  "  I  couldn't  stand  it  a  minit  longer — I  felt 
as  if  I  was  choking  to  death." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?" 

"  Oh,  it  wasn't  that.  She  went  toward  the  stand 
quiet  enough,  but  just  as  they  held  the  Bible  out  to  her 
she  looked  up  at  Katharine,  and  begun  to  shake  so  that 
one  of  the  constables  had  to  take  hold  of  her." 

"What  did  the  girl  do?" 

"  She  kind  o'  raised  herself  and  looked  at  her  mother. 
I  can't  tell  you  what  it  was  like.  I've  seen  a  lamb  look 
like  it  when  the  knife  was  at  its  throat.  The  old  woman 
tried  to  stand  up  firm,  but  when  she  saw  that  poor  cretur 


368         THE    DOCTOR'S    EVIDENCE. 

she  just  laid  her  head  down  on  the  railing  and  begun 
shaking  and  sobbing  like  every  thing,  but  she  didn't 
shed  a  single  tear.  When  she  lifted  her  head  again, 
Katharine  looked  at  her  and  smiled.  She  did  actually, 
but  it  was  enough  to  break  a  man's  heart.  I'd  rather 
a  seen  her  cry  right  out  a  thousand  times." 

The  farmer  paused  here,  took  out  his  silk  handker- 
chief again,  and  turned  his  face  away. 

"Poor  gal,"  muttered  one  of  his  listeners  ;  "  it  seems 
as  if  it  was  only  yesterday  I  see  her  dancing  about  like 
a  little  poppet,  with  her  curls  hanging  down  her  shoul- 
ders. I  can't  believe  she  did  it,  I  can't,  in  spite  of  every 
thing  ;  'taint  in  natur." 

"  What's  that  they  are  sajdng  ?"  cried  one  of  the 
group.  "  The  doctor's  called  up ;  I  want  to  hear  his 
evidence.  Come,  let's  try  and  crowd  in." 

The  two  men  joined  forces,  and  elbowed  their  way 
into  the  court  room  again,  not  unfriendly  to  the  poor 
girl,  as  our  readers  have  seen,  but  resolved  against 
losing  a  single  feature  of  the  scene  they  had  come  ten 
miles  to  witness. 

It  was,  indeed,  the  doctor  whose  name  had  been  called. 
He  was  enrolled  among  the  witnesses  of  the  prosecu- 
tion ;  but  those  who  knew  that  eccentric,  but  really 
great  man,  had  an  idea  that,  in  attempting  to  criminate 
the  poor  girl  by  that  witness,  the  law  would  find  its 
match.  The  lawyers  themselves  partook  somewhat  of 
this  feeling,  and  rather  shrunk  from  the  keen  sarcasm 
and  sly  wit  with  which  he  was  likely  to  retort  upon  any 
professional  encroachment.  As  for  his  old  neighbors, 
the  doctor's  evidence  was  a  point  in  the  trial  which  en- 
gaged their  keenest  interest.  They  held  a  sort  of  pro- 
perty right  in  the  doctor's  reputation  for  curt  ecceu- 


THE    DOCTOR'S    EVIDENCE.        369 

tricity,  and  were  anxious  to  pit  him  against  the  lawyers 
in  the  most  striking  manner  before  the  assembled  wis- 
dom of  all  Connecticut. 

Thus,  hundreds  of  faces,  familiar  about  Bungy,  Falls 
Hill,  and  Chewstown,  brightened  eagerly  when  the  doc- 
tor's name  was  called  out,  and  murmurs  ran  through  the 
crowd  that  now  those  city  lawyers  would  find  their 
match.  No  mistake  about  it ! 

The  doctor,  who  had  been  sitting  in  a  corner  of  the 
court  room,  watching  the  proceedings  with  vigilant  at- 
tention, heard  his  name  called,  and  arose.  You  would 
hardly  have  known  the  man,  as  he  made  a  slow  progress 
toward  the  witness  stand.  The  usual  quaint  smile  had 
left  his  lips,  and  his  eyes,  always  full  of  droll  or  sarcastic 
humor,  were  bright  with  the  dignity  of  an  earnest  pur- 
pose. He  stood  upon  the  witness  stand,  leaning  heavily 
on  his  crutches  ;  but,  notwithstanding  this  disadvantage, 
a  dignity  was  imparted  to  his  presence  that  no  one 
could  resist — you  would  not  have  believed  that  a  droll 
saying  had  ever  passed  those  lips. 

The  prisoner  leaned  forward,  clasped  her  hands,  and 
pressing  them  heavily  on  her  lap,  looked  at  him  in 
wild  dismay.  The  change  in  all  his  features  struck  her 
with  terror ;  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  suddenly  turned  her 
enemy. 

The  doctor  observed  this  wild  astonishment,  and  his 
face  softened  a  little  ;  nay,  those  stern  features  began  to 
quiver,  and  he  was  obliged  to  look  down  a  moment  to 
recover  himself. 

"  May  it  please  the  Court,"  he  said  at  length,  motion- 
ing the  person  away  who  came  forward  to  administer 
the  oath.  "  I  am  a  physician,  and  bound  by  a  profes- 
sional oath  not  to  reveal  the  secrets  of  my  patient.  I 
23 


370        THE    DOCTOR'S    EVIDENCE. 

am  not  sure  tbat  any  knowledge  which  I  have  would 
bear  against  this  poor  girl,  and  from  the  depths  of  my 
heart  I  believe  her  innocent,  but  I  ask  to  be  excused 
from  bearing  evidence  in  the  case." 

There  was  a  moment's  consultation  among  the  coun- 
sel. That  for  the  prosecution  sprung  up  as  if  there  had 
been  high  treason  in  the  doctor's  speech,  and  insisted 
that  no  distinctions  should  be  made  in  his  favor.  A 
great  crime  had  been  committed  against  the  Common- 
wealth, an  unnatural  crime,  and  the  ends  of  justice  de- 
manded that  every  means  should  be  used  for  obtaining 
the  truth.  The  judge  yielded  to,  or  rather  sustained 
his  argument,  and  the  doctor  was  courteously  desired 
to  take  the  oath. 

A  gleam  in  the  doctor's  eye,  and  a  keen  glance  at  the 
prosecuting  attorney,  prepared  his  friends  for  a  sharp 
encounter  of  wits,  but  he  was  a  man  to  rise  steadily  with 
the  occasion.  Terrible  interests  were  at  stake  here,  and 
his  true  character  rose  out  of  its  eccentricity.  He  took 
the  oath  reverently,  and  stated  the  facts  already  known 
to  the  reader,  in  a  clear,  impressive  manner  that  told 
greatly  upon  the  jury,  but  sheltering  himself  within  the 
strict  limits  of  the  law,  he  volunteered  nothing,  neithei 
did  he  shrink  from  any  question  propounded  to  him ; 
all  this  struck  his  friends  with  a  sort  of  awe.  They 
were  profoundly  impressed  by  the  dignity  of  his  course, 
but  a  little  disappointed,  nevertheless.  Once  the  doctor 
turned  and  looked  anxiously  on  the  prisoner.  It  was 
when  the  lawyer  asked  if  Katharine  had  exhibited  any 
anxiety  to  conceal  the  birth  of  her  child  from  the 
neighbors — if,  in  fact,  she  had  not  requested  the  doctor 
to  keep  it  a  secret. 

The  doctor  hesitated,  moved  uneasily,  and  half  wheeled 


THE   DOCTOR'S    EVIDENCE.        371 

around,  as  if  determined  to  leave  the  witness  stand,  for 
he  knew  what  effect  his  answer  would  have. 

Katharine  leaned  more  decidedly  toward  him,  and 
while  the  court  was  hushed  under  a  general  anxiety  to 
hear  his  reply,  her  sweet,  clear  voice  penetrated  through 
the  silence. 

"  Speak,  doctor ;  I  did  ask  you  not  to  tell — I  was 
afraid  of  what  they  would  think." 

The  officer  stepped  forward  to  enforce  silence,  and 
the  prisoner  shrunk  back  affrighted. 

Now  the  doctor's  stern  lip  began  to  quiver,  and  his 
keen  eyes  flashed  sharp  as  steel  through  the  tears  that 
shot  into  them,  for  the  first  time,  perhaps,  since  his 
manhood. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "if  you  will  force  me  to  it — she  did 
make  this  request ;  but  it  was  only  for  a  little  delay. 
The  poor  child  wished  her  secret  kept  till  some  one 
should  return." 

"And  who  was  that  person  ?" 

Katharine's  lips  parted,  and  she  held  her  breath  with 
keen  interest  till  the  answer  was  given. 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"And  she  never  told  you  ?" 

"  She  never  did." 

"And  you  have  no  suspicion  who  this  person  was  ?" 

"  Suspicion  is  not  evidence.     I  have  no  knowledge." 

The  questions  now  took  a  professional  turn,  and  the 
doctor's  evidence  bore  strongly  in  favor  of  the  prisoner. 
His  deep  knowledge,  and  clear  elucidation  of  medical 
theories  bearing  on  the  case,  made  a  deep  impresssion 
upon  the  jury,  and  threw  out  gleams  of  light  that  were 
adopted  with  avidity  by  the  defence. 

Indeed,  the  doctor,  acting  himself  under  a  clear  con- 


372  THE     VERDICT. 

viction  of  the  prisoner's  innocence,  contributed  more 
than  any  other  person  in  fastening  the  same  idea  upon 
the  court.  But  one  terrible  fact  remained  immovable — 
the  burial  of  the  child.  The  apparent  forethought  by 
which  this  had  been  accomplished.  The  time  seized 
upon  during  the  absence  of  the  mother.  What  eloquence 
could  sweep  these  fatal  truths  from  the  case  ?  None, 
none ! 


CHAPTER    LIT. 

THE    VERDICT. 

ONCE  more  Mrs.  Allen  was  put  upon  the  stand  to 
undergo  the  questions  which  had  been  so  fruitless  with 
the  doctor.  It  was  this  point  of  the  case  alone  which 
struck  terror  to  the  prisoner.  When  a  question  was 
asked  which  apparently  threatened  to  drag  her  hus- 
band's name  through  that  tortuous  investigation,  her 
lips  would  blanch  and  her  eyes  fill  with  sharp  anxiety. 
Thus  her  face  gleamed  out  white  and  ghastly  when  Mrs. 
Allen  was  put  under  the  torture  of  new  questions.  The 
mother  looked  at  her  gravely,  and  turned  to  the  judge ; 
but  when  the  attorney  proceeded  with  his  interrogations, 
she  answered  simply : 

"  I  am  her  mother.     Let  me  go." 

They  did  let  her  go.  The  attorney  had  no  heart  to 
press  that  pale,  tortured  woman  farther,  and  became 
generous,  partly  from  humanity,  partly  because  there 
was  something  in  the  face  of  his  witness  which  warned 
him  that  nothing  short  of  death  would  force  her  to 
speak. 


TLIE     VERDICT.  373 

Unfortunately  he  had  evidence  enough,  and  could 
afford  to  take  this  poor  mother  from  the  rack  of  his 
questions. 

When  this  danger  was  over,  the  prisoner  fell  back 
into  her  previous  state  of  gentle  resignation.  So  long 
as  her  husband's  reputation  was  safe,  so  long  as  his 
name  was  kept  out  of  the  proceedings,  she  had  no  feel- 
ing of  resistance. 

The  business  of  the  court  went  on.  All  the  details 
of  that  strange  death  and  burial,  so  far  as  known  evi- 
dence could  give  them,  were  laid  before  the  court.  The 
prisoner  heard  them  like  one  in  a  dream.  Once  or  twice 
she  lifted  those  mournful  eyes  as  some  detail  struck 
suddenly  on  her  remembrance ;  but  the  connecting 
links  being  deficient  in  her  mind,  baffled  its  conscious- 
ness. Then  a  change  came  upon  the  court.  The  wit- 
ness stand  was  empty,  and  a  tall,  hard-faced  man  stood 
before  the  judge,  pledging  himself  to  prove  her  guilt 
Katharine  heard  him  with  a  sort  of  dreary  amazement 
How  sturdily  he  denounced  her.  How  bitter  were  his 
words.  How  cruelly  sharp  those  dark  eyes  as  they 
turned  from  the  jury  to  her  face.  Poor  thing,  it  seemed 
very  cruel.  What  had  she  done  that  a  strong  man 
should  hunt  her  to  death  with  his  words. 

Then  another  man  arose.  She  knew  him,  for  he  had 
visited  her  in  prison.  The  look  which  he  cast  upon  her 
was  full  of  compassion.  He  pleaded  for  her  like  one 
inspired.  His  face  was  pale  with  emotion — his  voice 
faltered  and  his  eyes  filled  when  he  turned  to  make  a 
last  appeal  to  the  twelve  men  who  held  her  life  in  their 
hands.  In  the  midst  of  this  appeal,  Katharine  came 
out  of  her  dream  and  began  to  weep  from  self  pity. 
Her  sufferings  all  rose  vividly  before  her,  but  it  seemed 


374  THE     VERDICT. 

another  person  she  was  pitying,  not  herself.  She  met 
the  softened  glances  turned  toward  the  place  where  she 
sat  with  tender  sympathy,  as  if  they  were  all  deploring 
the  misery  of  some  third  person.  Thus,  a  faint  glow 
shone  out  from  the  pallor  of  her  face,  which  deepened 
the  sentiment  in  her  behalf. 

Then  the  judge  arose  with  his  face  to  the  jury.  His 
voice  was  slow  and  grave,  his  countenance  sad.  She 
could  not  comprehend  him.  He  was  neither  stern  like 
her  enemy,  nor  pathetic  like  her  friend.  Still,  under  his 
seriousness  she  felt  that  some  pity  for  her  youth  existed. 
When  he  sat  down  she  gave  him  a  long,  sorrowful 
look,  which  he  broke  by  lifting  one  hand  to  his  face  as 
if  those  eyes  troubled  him. 

The  twelve  men  arose  and  went  out,  one  after  another, 
like  mourners  at  a  funeral.  Then  a  murmur  ran  through 
the  court,  and  suppressed  whispers  went  from  lip  to  lip. 
She  knew  that  these  men  held  her  life,  but  could  not 
realize  that  their  fiat  was  so  near.  Time  went  by.  It 
might  have  been  minutes,  it  might  have  been  hours,  for 
aught  she  knew,  since  those  men  had  left  their  seats 
empty.  The  court  was  still  thronged.  The  judge  sat 
in  his  arm-chair,  shrouding  his  face  with  one  hand. 

A  faint  bustle.  The  twelve  men  glided  into  their  old 
places,  and  a  voice,  deep,  solemn,  and  stern,  spoke  out : 

"Prisoner,  look  upon  the  jury — -jury,  look  upon  the 
prisoner." 

Katharine  stood  up.  Those  twelve  men  met  her  mourn- 
ful gaze  with  shrinking  glances. 

"  Guilty,  or  not  guilty  ?" 

"  Guilty !  But  not  of  murder  in  the  first  degree. 
Not  guilty  unto  death !" 

There  was  a  hushed  tumult  in  the  crowd.     Those  who 


THE     VERDICT.  375 

looked  upon  her  face  rejoiced  that  she  was  saved  the 
last  penalty.  Some  muttered  bitterly  against  the  ver- 
dict, and  grew  indignant  with  the  jury  for  depriving 
them  of  a  death  spectacle ;  and  a  few  said,  in  their 
hearts,  this  verdict  is  unjust — that  young  creature  is 
innocent. 

Katharine  sat  down ;  a  band,  hard  and  firm  as  iron, 
that  had  seemed  tightening  around  her  heart  all  the  day, 
broke,  and  flooded  her  being  with  tears.  Poor,  poor 
child  !  she  had  been  so  afraid  to  die.  Amid  all  her  hero- 
ism, there  was  a  perpetual  dread,  which  made  her 
gentle  nature  shrink  from  the  horror  before  her.  Be- 
sides, death  would  take  her  away  from  him,  perhaps, 
forever  and  ever.  This  thought  had  been  the  most  cruel 
of  all.  But  it  was  over  now.  They  would  not  take  her 
life — she  might  see  him  again — he  would  love  her  all  the 
better  for  having  shielded  his  name  from  this  trouble 
and  disgrace ;  at  any  rate,  she  would  not  die,  she  would 
not  die. 

Overwhelmed  with  these  feelings,  she  heard  nothing 
that  was  going  on  in  the  court,  but  sat  with  her  hands 
clasped  and  quivering  in  her  lap,  while  the  tears  fell, 
drop  by  drop,  down  her  cheeks,  whispering : 

"  I  live !  I  live !  and  shall  see  him  again !" 

A  voice  called  forth  her  name,  commanding  her  to 
stand  up  and  hear  the  sentence  of  the  coui't. 

She  arose,  supporting  herself  by  the  railing,  for  the 
last  few  moments  had  left  her  very  weak.  Her  eyes 
were  full  of  tears.  She  saw  the  judge  through  a  mist, 
and  his  words  sounded  from  a  great  distance. 

"  Condemned  to  sit  upon  a  gallows,  erected  on  the 
public  common  of  New  Haven,  for  one  hour,  with  a 
halter  around  your  neck  ;  and,  after  that,  to  be  confined 


376      THE     TRAIL     OF     THE     SERPENT. 

in  the  State's  Prison,  at  Simsbury  Mines,  during  eight 
years." 

She  heard  words  of  kindly  encouragement  and  en- 
treaty to  use  the  mercy  extended  by  the  court  as  a 
means  of  repentance.  Her  great  sin,  unnatural  cruelty. 
Time  for  reformation — fragments  like  these  floated  by 
her,  but  they  left  no  impression.  She  only  compre- 
hended one  thing- — they  had  given  her  life !  life  !  life  1 
life  I 

She  sunk  on  her  knees  as  the  judge  ceased,  buried  her 
face  on  the  criminal's  seat — and  thanked  God  that  he  had 
permitted  her  to  live.  The  old  widow  had  sat  through  it 
all  quiet — as  great  suffering  most  frequently  is — pale  as 
death,  but  with  a  certain  stern  fortitude  which  a  Spartan 
mother  might  have  felt  without  shame.  "When  the  jury 
came  in  she  arose  with  slow  unconsciousness,  and  stood 
upright  in  the  presence  of  the  court,  her  gray  eyes 
heavy  with  anguish,  her  white  lips  parted  in  au  agony 
of  suspense.  Guilty,  but  not  unto  death.  She  lifted  her 
clasped  hands  feebly  upward,  and  fell  back,  sobbing  like 
a  little  child. 


CHAPTER    LV. 

THK   TRAIL   OP   THE    SERPENT. 

No  more  brilliant  house  than  that  of  Mrs.  Nelson 
could  be  found  in  the  city  of  New  York.  This  woman 
had  flashed  upon  society  like  a  meteor.  Her  dress — • 
her  style  so  original  that  they  were  taken  to  be  foreign. 
Her  quick  wit  and  sumptuous  beauty  won  hosts  of  ad- 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT.   377 

mirers.  Her  carriage  was  the  most  splendid  and  nobly 
appointed  of  any  that  appeared  in  the  fashionable 
thoroughfares.  Every  thing  rich  and  unique  that  a 
prodigal  taste  could  imagine  or  money  obtain,  was  to 
be  found  in  her  home.  All  the  costly  adornments  which 
her  husband  had  prepared  for  her,  with  so  much  solici- 
tude, were  crowded  into  side  rooms  and  entrance  halls, 
while  she  filled  the  principal  apartments  after  a  fancy 
entirely  her  own.  The  great  joy  of  her  life  was  in 
spending  money,  and  in  parading  the  result  before  the 
world.  To  defy  emulation  and  excite  envy  was  her 
crowning  desire.  Yet,  with  all  this  prodigality,  she  was 
never  generous,  never  felt  the  sweet  impulses  of  charity, 
or  knew  the  gentle  bliss  of  self-sacrifice. 

It  sometimes,  nay,  often  happens,  that  those  who  rise 
from  poverty  to  sudden  wealth,  are  more  hard-hearted 
than  persons  born  to  affluence.  This  may  arise  from  a 
reluctance  to  review  painful  or  humiliating  associations  ; 
or  it  may  be  that,  with  some  chai'acters,  poverty  has  a 
hardening  process,  and,  when  lifted  above  it,  they  feel 
a  sort  of  pleasure  in  seeing  others  suffer  as  they  have 
done.  This  is  a  bad  phase  of  human  nature — but  who 
can  say  that  it  seldom  presents  itself  in  society. 

Mrs.  Nelson  was  one  of  these  women.  She  would 
not,  knowingly,  have  perpetrated  a  crime,  or  done  a 
palpable  injustice ;  but  her  whole  life  was  made  up  of 
trivial  vanity  and  intense  selfishness.  What  little  feel- 
ing she  possessed,  had  been  sacrificed  to  a  craving 
desire  for  wealth,  and  she  bent  all  her  faculties  to  one 
end,  that  of  securing  all  its  privileges  and  enjoyments  to 
herself. 

It  was  not  long  before  her  husband  became  con- 
vinced of  this ;  for  real  and  deep  passion  rendered  him 


378      THE     TRAIL     OF     THE     SERPENT. 

keen  sighted.  His  character,  naturally  stern  and  silent, 
grew  bitter  under  this  one  thought ;  but  the  fatal  love 
which  had  led  him  to  lavish  so  much  upon  her,  still 
imprisoned  his  heart  as  the  serpents  of  the  laocoon  coil 
around  their  victims. 

A  few  months  of  married  life,  and  this  was  the  con- 
dition in  which  the  Nelsons  found  themselves.  He  a 
lonely,  sullen  slave  —  she  reckless  and  egotistical,  at 
the  best — sometimes  insolent  in  her  exactions,  and 
always  ungrateful.  But  this  did  not  impair  her  popu- 
larity, or,  in  truth,  meet  public  observation  at  all.  To 
the  world  she  was  every  thing  charming.  But  it  is  at 
home  we  must  seek  this  woman  in  order  to  judge  her 
aright  in  this  new  phase  of  her  strange  life. 

It  was  Mrs.  Nelson's  caprice  to  breakfast  alone  in  a 
little  room  which  opened  to  the  sunniest  nook  of  the 
flower  garden.  In  less  than  three  weeks  after  her  mar- 
riage she  began  to  separate  her  life  from  that  of  her 
husband  in  every  possible  manner,  and  absolutely  sold 
the  fragments  of  time  which  she  doled  out  to  him,  bar- 
tering them  off  unblushingly  for  some  new  extrava- 
gance, until  even  his  absorbing  passion  revolted  at  her 
egotism. 

The  room  that  we  speak  of  was  really  an  exquisite 
affair  in  its  way ;  very  cheerful  and  sumptuous  in  all 
its  appointments.  Lace  curtains  were  looped  back 
from  the  deep  windows,  so  heavy  with  embroidery  that 
they  fell  over  the  pure  plate-glass  like  snow  wreaths 
floating  over  ice.  Through  this  transparent  cloud  came 
the  cool  rustle  of  tree  boughs,  the  gleam  of  flowers, 
and  glimpses  of  warm  sunshine,  turning  the  grass  to  a 
golden  green.  A  broad  mirror,  surmounted  by  a  wreath 
of  gilded  foliage,  reflected  back  this  out-door  picture 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT.   379 

from  its  limpid  surface.  The  carpet  appeared  but  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  blossoming  turf  without ;  you  seemed 
to  trample  upon  a  living  flower  at  every  step,  and  the 
foot  sank  luxuriously  into  its  rich  pile,  as  if  pressing 
wood  moss  in  a  forest.  The  hangings  upon  the  walls 
were  of  pale  green  clustering  with  golden  roses.  Small 
tables  of  oriental  alabaster  and  delicate  mosaic  sup- 
ported vases  of  flowers,  which  shed  a  delicate  perfume 
through  the  apartment.  Two  easy  chairs  of  the  most 
elaborate  construction,  and  a  couch  that  yielded  to 
pressure  like  down,  completed  the  rich  assemblage. 

Most  regally  did  this  apartment  frame  in  the  queenly 
woman  who  formed  a  tableau  of  wonderful  effect  in  its 
centre.  The  rare  tone  of  her  beauty  demanded  delicate 
tints,  and  these  were  in  direct  contrast  with  the  colors 
that  predominated  in  the  room.  Morning  dresses,  as 
they  are  now  worn,  were  not  then  in  vogue,  but  a  Can- 
ton crape  dress,  of  a  glowing  red,  fell  across  her  bosom 
in  surplice  folds,  revealing  glimpses  of  costly  lace  under- 
neath ;  the  sleeves  fitted  her  symmetrical  arms  to  the 
elbow,  where  they  terminated  in  a  fall  of  frost-like  lace. 
A  gossamer  cap  seemed  to  have  settled  like  a  butterfly 
on  the  lustrous  tresses  coiled  around  her  proud  head, 
which  she  crushed  ruthlessly  against  the  back  of  her 
chair,  rather  than  change  her  idle  position.  She  held  a 
newspaper  in  her  hand,  while  her  foot  rested  on  the 
ebony  claw  of  a  small  table,  on  which  the  frosted  silver 
and  delicate  china  of  a  breakfast  service  were  arranged. 

Mrs.  Nelson  was  no  reader,  but  she  loved  to  drone 
over  the  morning  papers  after  breakfast,  picking  up 
such  fragments  of  gossip  and  news  as  floated  through 
their  columns  with  satisfaction,  so  long  as  no  effort  of 
thought  was  necessary.  Thus  her  eyes  roved  restlessly 


380      THE     TRAIL     OF     THE     SERPENT. 

over  the  paper  in  her  hand  until  the}'  fell  upon  the  head- 
ing of  a  paragraph  that  sent  the  bloorn  for  a  moment 
from  her  cheeks.  It  was  an  account  of  Katharine 
Allen's  trial.  She  read  it  breathlessly  from  beginning 

*-  O  O 

to  end.  A  cloud  gathered  on  her  fair  forehead  as  she 
proceeded,  which  grew  dark  and  stormy  when  she  ap- 
proached the  termination. 

Jealousy  is  more  likely  to  spring  from  self-love  than 
from  pure  affection.  The  pang  which  Mrs.  Nelson  felt 
was  not  the  less  keen  because  she  had  no  real  regard 
for  the  man  whom  she  had  married.  Her  arrogant 
vanity  had  been  pampered  till  its  craving  could  not  be 
satisfied,  and  the  idea  that  another  would  dare  lift  ad- 
miring eyes  to  the  man  it  had  been  her  pleasure  to 
select,  wounded  her  almost  as  if  she  had  possessed  a 
heart.  She  remembered  Katharine  Allen  as  she  had 
appeared  that  night  at  her  own  humble  home  in  the 
pine  woods,  and  a  clear  conviction  fell  upon  her  that 
Nelson  Thrasher  was  in  some  way  implicated  in  the 
trouble  that  had  fallen  upon  the  girl.  Had  he — her 
slave,  her  spaniel,  whom  it  was  her  right  to  caress  or 
spurn,  dared  to  swerve  from  his  allegiance  to  her,  even 
when  she  was  the  wife  of  another  ? 

The  question  filled  her  heart  with  bitter  scorn.  She 
gloried  over  the  fact  that  this  girl  would  be  degraded 
and  crushed  out  of  respectable  life  for  having  presumed 
to  cross  her  path.  She  remembered  the  delicate  beauty 
which  had  been  so  remarkable  that  evening,  and  bit  her 
lips  fiercely  as  the  idea  presented  itself,  that  less  adroit 
management  on  her  part  might  have  placed  Katharine 
in  the  honorable  possession  of  all  she  enjoyed  so  keenly. 
What  if  he  should  relent,  even  then  ?  What  if  the 
knowledge  of  this  poor  girl's  terrible  position  should 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT.   381 

touch  the  heart  she  had  herself  trampled  down  so  inso- 
lently, while  it  was  loading  her  with  benefits  ! 

She  grasped  the  paper  in  her  hand — no,  no,  he  must 
never  hear  the  news  it  contained.  She  would .  change 
her  course,  and  strive  to  endure  his  society.  He  had 
grown  sullen  of  late.  What  if  his  love  for  her  should 
change.  The  crowning  passion  of  her  character  revolted 
at  this,  but  still  a  lurking  fear  crept  in,  and  she  re- 
flected that  the  slavery  of  a  strong  heart  would  not  last 
forever. 

She  touched  a  curious  little  bell  that  stood  on  the 
table,  and  a  servant  opened  the  door. 

"  Send  me  all  the  papers  that  have  been  brought  this 
morning !" 

The  man  went  away  and  returned  with  several  of  the 
morning  journals ;  she  glanced  them  over  hurriedly, 
pressing  her  lips  hard,  while  each  column  was  scanned. 
That  paragraph  was  only  to  be  found  in  the  paper 
that  lay  crushed  in  her  lap.  She  arose  hurriedly,  and 
passing  through  the  entrance  hall,  swept  toward  the 
kitchen. 

The  cook  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  struck 
with  astonishment  by  the  presence  of  her  haughty  mis- 
tress in  that  place.  Mrs.  Nelson  walked  toward  the 
range,  and  taking  up  a  heavy  poker,  thrust  the  news- 
paper into  the  fire,  holding  it  down  till  the  fragments 
floated  in  black  flakes  over  her  hand.  She  laid  the 
poker  down,  observing  that  the  woman  was  regarding 
her  curiously. 

"  Send  in  coffee,  and  some  of  those  delicate  French 
rolls  which  Mr.  Nelson  is  so  fond  of,"  she  said,  indiffer- 
ently ;  "  with  any  other  nice  thing  you  can  pick  up." 


382       LOVE'S    GOLDEN    HARVEST. 
CHAPTER    LYI. 

LOVE'S   GOLDEN   HARVEST. 

THE  cook  was  full  of  regrets  that  madame  had  been 
compelled  to  give  her  own  orders,  and,  amid  a  woi'ld  of 
protestations,  Mrs.  Nelson  went  back  to  her  room. 
Soon  after  she  rang  the  bell  with  emphasis,  and  di- 
rectly that  exquisite  breakfast  service  was  re-arranged 
for  two,  and  one  of  the  silken  easy  chairs  rolled  oppo- 
site her  own. 

"  Go  tell  Mr.  Nelson  that  I  am  waiting  for  him  to 
breakfast  with  me,"  she  said,  drawing  close  to  the  table, 
and  forcing  the  clouds  from  her  face. 

She  waited  impatiently  till  the  man  came  back,  tap- 
ping the  carpet  with  her  restless  foot.  What  if  she  had 
gone  too  far  ?  If  he  ever  could  have  thought  of  another 
might  it  not  be  so  again  ?  and  she  so  completely  in  his 
power,  so  helpless  without  his  wealth. 

The  servant  came  back. 

"  Mr.  Nelson's  compliments,  but  he  had  taken  break- 
fast hours  ago." 

The  woman  absolutely  turned  pale.  It  was  the  first 
time  he  had  ever  refused  an  advance  of  any  kind  from 
her.  She  arose,  stood  in  thought  an  instant,  and  then 
left  the  room. 

"  Master  is  in  his  office,  madame,"  said  the  servant. 

"Yes,  I  know — he  was  not  well  this  morning." 

She  swept  through  the  hall  again,  and  crossing  two  or 
three  rooms,  entered  one  in  the  extreme  southern  wing 
of  the  house.  In  this  place,  Nelson  had,  of  late,  taken 


LOVE'S     GOLDEN     HARVEST.  383 

his  meals  alone.  It  was  simply  an  office  upon  the 
ground  floor,  containing  a  few  chairs,  an  oaken  book- 
case, heavy  with  carving,  and  a  library  table,  which 
stood  in  the  centre  of  a  small  Persian  carpet.  There 
was  nothing  very  remarkable  in  this  apartment,  except 
one  thing.  The  floor  was  paved  like  the  entrance  hall, 
with  a  rich  mosaic  pattern  of  variously  tinted  marble. 
Mrs.  Nelson  felt  a  chill  from  the  stones  through  her 
thin  slippers,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Dear  me,  Nelson,  what  a  dreary  place  you  have  ! 
All  wood  work  and  stone.  I  never  observed  how  very 
comfortless  it  was  before." 

Nelson  was  locking  something  in  a  drawer  of  his 
writing-table,  and  his  face  was  bent,  but  she  saw  the 
blood  rush  to  his  forehead. 

"  I  do  not  find  it  disagreeable,"  he  said,  gravely. 

"Ah,  but  my  room  is  so  much  pleasanter,"  she  said, 
approaching  the  table,  and  laying  a  hand  caressingly  on 
his  arm. 

He  rose  up  suddenly,  shaking  her  hand  away. 

The  color  mounted  to  her  temples,  but  she  controlled 
the  temper  that  burned  within  her. 

"  You  are  out  of  sorts,  dear  husband  ;  and  I  am  lone 
some.  Come  away  from  this  cold  room." 

" It  is  not  colder  than  usual,"  he  answered,  curtly; 
but  a  thrill  ran  through  his  frame  and  the  blood  tingled 
in  his  veins.  She  had  never  called  him  by  that  endear- 
ing name  but  once  before,  not  even  in  the  first  days  of 
their  marriage. 

Her  hand  had  fallen  lightly  on  his  wrist — she  felt  the 
leap  of  the  pulse,  and  smiled  with  inward  triumph. 

"  Come,  come.  I  am  getting  angry.  How  could  you 
neglect  me  so  ?  Busy,  busy,  all  the  time ;  about  what  ? 


364:       LOVE'S    GOLDEN    HARVEST. 

and  I  left  alone !     Come — this  morning  I  will  take  no 
refusal  1     You  shall  breakfast  with  me  !" 

Nelson  took  her  hand,  grasping  it  hard,  and  looked 
steadily  in  her  face. 

"  Ellen,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?" 

"  It  means  that  I  want  to  see  my  husband  now  and 
then,  or  he  will  forget  how  much  I  love  him." 

Nelson  shook  his  head.  This  sweet  flattery  was  too 
sudden.  It  lacked  the  ring  of  truth,  and  he  felt  it. 

He  looked  at  her  sternly. 

"  Ellen  I" 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  What  do  you  desire  in  exchange  for  these  minutes 
of  deception?" 

"  Nelson !" 

"  It  is  a  simple  question.  If  you  have  any  wish  nn- 
gratified,  speak.  This  cajolery  is  not  necessary." 

"You  are  cruel,  Nelson." 

He  saw  the  tears  mount  slowly  to  her  eyes  ;  the  hand 
which  touched  his,  trembled. 

"You  have  ceased  to  love  me,  Nelson  ?" 

She  asked  this  question  breathlessly ;  all  the  splendor 
of  her  position  seemed  fading  away.  Her  lips  grew 
white,  and  she  leaned  heavily  on  the  table.  Ambition 
spoke  loudly  as  her  heart  should  have  done. 

Her  evident  grief  made  his  pulses  leap.  The  white 
lips — the  trembling  of  those  limbs.  The  emotion  thus 
betrayed  must  be  genuine.  He  stood  irresolute,  looking 
at  her.  The  thick  lashes  drooped  over  her  eyes,  her 
bosom  began  to  heave. 

"  Ellen,  is  this  real  ?" 

She  lifted  those  velvety  eyes  to  his,  and  the  man  was 
her  slave  again 


LOVE'S     GOLDEN     HARVEST.  385 

Three  weeks  from  this  day,  two  important  things 
were  concluded.  A  deed  of  gift,  conveying  the  mansion 
house,  was  made  out  in  favor  of  Ellen  Nelson,  and  a 
large  amount  of  foreign  gold  was  deposited  in  one  of 
the  leading  city  banks,  subject  to  her  order.  Those  few 
sweet  words  had  brought  her  a  golden  harvest;  but 
what  was  that  compared  to  the  vast  wealth  which  still 
remained  in  her  husband's  power  ?  wealth  that  could  not 
be  brought  out  in  the  face  of  the  world,  though  she  had 
never  been  permitted  to  know  its  hiding-place.  While 
her  husband  held  this  great  secret  back  from  her  knowl- 
edge she  could  not  feel  altogether  secure,  for  what  was 
moderate  wealth  to  a  woman  who  had  dreamed  so  long 
of  millions  ? 

In  the  depth  of  his  heart,  Nelson  may  have  felt  that  his 
secret  was  the  strongest  tie  that  bound  him  to  his  wife. 
If  so,  it  was  one  of  those  cruel  thoughts  that  men  put 
away  from  their  souls  only  to  feel  them  creeping  back 
again  like  serpents.  One  thing  is  certain,  he  clung  to 
the  secret  of  his  gold  with  stern  tenacity,  and  watched 
all  her  stealthy  movements  toward  it  with  the  vigilance 
of  a  hound.  The  golden  chains  with  which  his  wife  was 
bound  became  more  important  to  him  every  day.  While 
he  lived,  that  should  fetter  her  to  his  side  if  love  could 
not.  When  he  died — a  shudder  ran  through  his  soul  as 
he  thought  of  that.  Was  he  certain  that  retribution 
would  wait  for  him  till  then  ? 
24 


386  ONE     HOUR     OF     SHAME. 

CHAPTER    LYII. 

ONE   HOUR  OP   SHAME. 

A  VESSEL  was  being  hauled  in  at  the  Long  Wharf,  at 
New  Haven — a  weather-beaten  vessel — that  gave  evi- 
dence of  a  long  voyage  over  the  seas.  Two  men  leaped 
from  the  deck,  as  she  was  slowly  warped  to  her  moor- 
ings, and  stood  together  a  few  moments  at  the  head  of 
the  wharf.  They  were  both  fine  looking  men,  but  in  a 
different  way.  The  one  had  a  frank,  honest  countenance, 
that  expressed  great  natural  vigor  of  mind,  joined  with 
a  physical  organization  of  uncommon  strength.  The 
other  was  lighter,  taller,  and  more  decidedly  intellectual 
every  way.  Indeed,  a  face  like  that  was  not  met  with 
on  the  same  thoroughfare  once  in  a  twelvemonth. 

This  man  seemed  eager  to  be  moving  ;  he  held  a  small 
portmanteau  in  his  hands,  while  a  few  hurried  words 
passed  between  him  and  his  companion. 

"  Then  you  wont  go  into  the  town  with  me  and  give 
us  both  a  fair  start  ?"  said  the  stouter  of  the  two.  "  The 
stage  starts  from  Buck's  Tavern  at  daylight." 

"  No,  no ;  I  could  not  sleep,  I  could  not  rest  within 
ten  miles  of  home.  Think  how  long  I  have  been  away 
— of  all  that  has  happened." 

"  But  we  are  four  hours  too  late  for  the  morning 
stage,  captain." 

"  I  know ;  but  what  then  ?  It  is  but  an  easy  walk 
after  all.  I  can  be  there  before  noon." 

Rice  laughed,  and  slily  winked  one  eyelid. 

"  All  right," he  said  ;  "this  comes  of  being  a  married 


ONE     HOUR     OF     SHAME.  387 

man ;  a  ten  miles'  tramp,  with  a  heart  fluttering  like  a 
partridge  all  the  way.  Well,  we  old  bachelors  have 
nothing  to  hurry  for,  and  can  afford  to  take  it  comforta- 
bly. I'll  go  down  to  Bucks,  and  be  at  the  old  woman's 
to  supper.  But  keep  dark ;  I  want  to  come  down  upon 
her  and  Kate  all  of  a  sudden,  to  say  nothing  of  that 
little  shaver  and  cuff — so  keep  a  close  lip,  captain." 

The  captain  gave  a  happy  laugh,  thinking  that  he 
would  be  too  pleasantly  employed  for  any  chance  at 
gossip,  so  he  promised  silence  very  cordially,  and  the 
two  shook  hands. 

"  Good  luck  to  you,"  exclaimed  Rice,  with  hearty- 
good  will,  "I'll  be  after  you  in  short  order." 

They  parted  here.  The  man  with  the  portmanteau 
walking  with  rapid  strides  toward  the  highway  which 
led  to  the  country,  and  our  sailor  friend  taking  a  more 
leisurely  course  into  the  town. 

He  was  so  busy  with  thoughts  of  home  at  first  that  a 
certain  bustle  and  excitement  among  the  people  upon 
the  sidewalks  failed  to  arrest  his  attention.  But  as  he 
approached  the  heart  of  the  city  this  unusual  bustle 
aroused  him.  The  people  all  seemed  to  be  going  one 
wa}^,  men  hurried  along  in  eager  haste,  women  jostled 
against  each  other  in  their  reckless  movements,  some 
dragging  little  children  after  them,  and  scolding  their 
slow  progress. 

Rice  followed  the  current.  He,  too,  became  anxious 
to  see  what  was  taking  a  whole  population  so  com- 
pletely in  one  direction,  and  having  plenty  of  time, 
sauntered  on,  with  the  easy  roll  learned  in  his  home  on 
the  rolling  deep.  He  asked  no  questions,  indeed  he 
felt  very  little  interest  in  the  matter.  Something  was 
going  on — it  might  be  a  political  meeting,  or  "  a  gen- 


388  ONE     HOUR     OF     RHAME. 

eral  training,"  it  made  very  little  difference  to  him 
which  it  should  prove.  There  seemed  to  be  a  crowd 
assembling  somewhere,  and  that  was  all  he  cared  about 
the  matter. 

At  last  the  throng  of  people  grew  so  thick  around 
one  of  these  green  enclosures,  common  to  the  City  of 
Elms,  that  Rice  made  his  way  onward  with  some  diffi- 
culty. He  paused  to  take  an  observation,  saw  the 
great  square  crowded  full  of  people  that  murmured  and 
swayed  to  and  fro,  when  new  crowds  poured  in  from 
the  streets,  as  he  had  seen  the  ocean  in  many  a  danger- 
ous storm. 

The  general  excitement  fully  aroused  him  now,  and 
he  looked  keenly  around  while  elbowing  his  way  through 
the  human  masses,  asking  the  crowd  in  general,  and  no 
one  in  particular,  what  the  noise  was  about. 

No  one  answered  him.  All  were  eagerly  searching 
for  commodious  standing  room,  and  his  questions  re- 
mained unheeded.  At  last  he  saw,  looming  up  in  the 
centre  of  the  public  green,  a  mass  of  timber,  great, 
heavy  oaken  posts,  and  a  cross-beam  rising  above  a  scaf- 
fold, upon  which  a  mass  of  white,  that  possibly  shrouded 
a  human  figure,  was  lifted  above  the  crowd. 

Rice  paused,  with  a  sudden  exclamation. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  he  said,  turning  to  a  female,  who 
elbowed  him  fiercely  with  one  arm,  lifting  up  her  child 
with  the  other. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Can't  you  see  ?  Look  for  yourself. 
What  should  it  be  but  a  gallows,  and  a  woman  on  it  ?" 
cried  the  mother,  lifting  the  little,  golden-haired  girl  on 
her  shoulder,  that  she  might  command  a  view  of  the 
show. 

"A  gallows,  and  a  woman  on  it !"  exclaimed  Rice, 


ONE     HOUR     OF     SHAME.  389 

losing  half  of  his  ruddy  color.  "  Oh,  my  good  woman, 
what  has  the  poor  thing  done  ?" 

"Done!  why,  where  did  you  come  from?  Done 
enough  to  hang  her  as  high  as  Haman,  where  she  ought 
to  be  swinging  this  minute.  Done,  indeed  I" 

With  these  words  the  woman  thrust  herself  forward, 
marking  her  rude  progress  by  the  frightened  face  of  the 
child,  which  rose  and  fell  in  that  ocean  of  human  heads 
like  some  flower  tossed  upward  by  a  storm. 

A  strange  feeling  seized  upon  Rice — a  desperate  wish 
to  struggle  through  the  crowd,  and  flee  from  the  spot. 
He  turned  and  pressed  blindty  against  the  human  masses 
that  heaved  around  him.  But,  in  spite  of  his  great 
strength,  they  bore  him  onward  like  the  waters  of  a  vor- 
tex, till  he  was  flung,  against  his  own  will,  almost  at  the 
foot  of  the  gallows. 

Yes ;  a  woman  was  shrouded  in  that  white  drapery — 
a  fair  young  girl,  so  fair  and  so  young  that  the  sailor's 
heart  melted  with  pity  at  the  first  glance.  How  still 
and  white  she  was.  How  like  some  of  the  Madonnas  he 
had  seen  in  the  churches  and  cathedrals  of  foreign  parts ; 
those  hands  were  folded  under  the  cloud-Jike  sleeves. 
She  was  very  slender  and  frail.  Rice  could  trace  the 
blue  veins  on  her  temples,  and  see  the  quiver  of  her 
hands  under  the  white  drapery.  A  hideous  thing  was 
coiled,  like  a  great  ash-colored  serpent,  around  that  deli- 
cate neck,  and  fell  writhing  along  the  scaffold. 

Rice  uttered  a  cry  of  horror ;  something  in  that  face 
smote  all  the  strength  from  his  heart.  The  sight  of  that 
rope  made  him  tremble  like  a  little  child.  The  meek 
eyelids  drooping  over  the  shrinking  agony  of  those 
eyes,  the  mouth  parting  now  and  then  from  its  tremu- 
lous pressure,  the  small  feet  resting  so  helplessly  on  the, 
scaffold.  It  was  a  pitiful  sight. 


890  THE     MOTHER     AND     SON. 

I  cannot  explain  why  that  craving  desire  to  know 
who  the  criminal  was,  seized  upon  the  strong  man, 
whose  face  the  unhappy  creature  would  not  have  known 
had  she  lifted  those  heavy  eyes  ?  "  Who  is  it  ?  why  is 
she  here  ?  will  no  one  tell  me  ?" 

An  old  woman,  or  the  shadow  of  an  old  woman,  who 
leaned  against  the  timbers  of  the  gallows,  looked  up  at 
this  outcry,  and  her  eyes  settled  on  his  face.  Then  her 
poor  withered  hands  were  slowly  lifted,  and  fell  help- 
lessly into  his. 

"My  son!" 

"  Mother — my  mother,  and  looking  so  !" 

"  Hush  1"  she  said,  lifting  her  trembling  finger,  and 
pointing  to  the  girl  on  the  scaffold.  "  It  is  our  Katharine." 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

THE    MOTHER   AND    SON. 

RICE  did  not  speak — he  did  not  move — a  weight  of 
blood  fell  back  on  his  heart,  turning  it  to  stone.  He 
felt  like  a  drowning  man,  with  the  billows  of  a  turbu- 
lent ocean  heaving  around  him. 

The  old  woman  left  her  support  against  the  timbers 
of  the  gallows,  and  rested  against  him.  Unconsciously 
he  circled  her  with  one  arm.  She  looked  up  in  his  face, 
and  the  slow  relief  of  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes. 

All  this  had  passed  very  quietly.  ISTo  one  saw  it,  for 
but  few  had  heeded  the  old  woman  who  crept  silently 
after  the  cortege  when  it  left  the  jail.  As  the  sheriff 


THE     MOTHER     AND     SON.  391 

led  his  charge  up  to  the  scaffold,  a  stifled  moan  had 
made  him  pause,  and  he  saw  a  thin  hand  steal  forth 
from  the  crowd  and  touch  that  of  the  prisoner,  without 
seeming  to  heed  the  act ;  for  he  was  a  kind  man,  and 
guessed  who  the  woman  was.  Then  the  strong,  brave 
son  came  up,  and  the  old  woman  recognized  him  with 
sorrowful  gladness  ;  but  the  crowd  was  eager  for  the 
spectacle  of  human  shame,  and  cared  nothing  for  that. 

Oh,  how  differently  the  half  brother  looked  on  that 
scaffold  now !  He  saw  the  delicate  form  drooping  in 
the  presence  of  a  great  multitude.  The  sunlight  fell 
around  her  with  a  soft,  mocking  radiance.  Not  even  a 
cloud  crept  mercifully  into  the  heavens  to  vail  her  with 
shadows.  Her  eyes  were  bent  on  the  rough,  unjoined 
boards  beneath  her  feet.  The  tumult  of  popular  curios- 
ity rose  and  swelled  around  her,  but  she  never  moved 
or  looked  up.  Coarse  words  and  harsh  revilings  passed 
by  her,  but  save  a  quiver  of  the  eyelids,  you  would  not 
have  known  that  she  heard  them. 

As  she  sat  thus  meek  and  still  while  the  minutes  of 
her  punishment  dropped  into  eternity,  carrying  her 
shame  with  them,  the  great  multitude  around  her  grew 
turbulent.  After  all,  what  was  it  to  walk  so  far  and 
stay  so  long  only  to  see  a  young  girl  sitting  upon  a 
platform  of  boards,  without  giving  a  sign  or  lifting  her 
eyes  ?  They  had  come  to  see  a  murderess — something 
wild  and  exciting — a  scene  to  frighten  their  children 
with  in  after  times,  and  talk  over  with  the  neighbors 
when  subjects  of  gossip  ran  low.  Why  did  not  the 
sheriff  make  her  stand  up  and  confess  her  crime  before 
them  all  ?  That  would  be  something  to  satisfy  the  law ! 

As  the  hour  wore  on  these  expressions  of  discontent 
grew  strong.  Men  shouted  for  her  to  stand  up,  while 


392  THE     MOTHER     AND     SON. 

the  mocking  voices  of  disappointed  females  scoffed  at 
her  with  unwomanly  fierceness. 

All  feelings  are  contagious  when  humanity  crowds 
itself  into  masses.  Lashed  by  these  jibes  the  people 
grew  coarse  and  cruel — the  meek  silence  of  the  prisoner 
seemed  like  obstinacy  to  them.  Her  drooping  face, 
half  hidden  from  their  eager  glances,  had  no  right  to 
evade  them  thus. 

These  murmurs  of  discontent  grew  turbulent  and 
surged  through  the  crowd  like  the  dashing  of  spent 
waves  upon  a  rocky  bank — a  sea  of  human  faces  waved 
to  and  fro,  white  and  terrified  with  conflicting  emotions. 
In  all  that  throng  there  was,  perhaps,  not  one  counte- 
nance which  expressed  indifference ;  a  great  painter  might 
have  made  his  name  immortal  could  he  have  pictured 
that  dense  multitude  as  it  really  appeared.  Men  and 
women  looked  cruel  and  hard,  as  if  they  longed  to  drag 
the  miserable  young  creature  down  from  her  place  of 
shame  with  their  own  hands  and  put  her  to  death. 
Here  and  there  a  visage  appeared  which  seemed  to 
express  something  akin  to  pity ;  but  the  most  tender- 
hearted would  hardly  have  ventured,  amid  that  excited 
populace,  to  have  expressed  a  word  of  sympathy. 

In  the  midst  of  this  tumult  Rice  heard  a  voice  close 
to  his  elbow,  which  hissed  in  his  ear  like  a  serpent.  A 
rough  looking  man  stood  by  him  with  a  face  full  of 
cruel  mockery  uplifted  to  the  gallows.  He  stooped 
down  and  spoke  to  a  lad  who  stood  near : 

"  Go  and  give  the  halter  a  jerk,  my  little  fellow,  and 
I'll  pay  ye  a  ninepence  the  minute  it's  done.  If  you  pull 
her  off  so  much  the  better ;  I'll  make  the  ninepence  a 
shilling !" 

These  were  the  words  which  made  Rice  start,  and 


THE     MOTHER     AND     SON.  893 

look  fiercely  around.  He  saw  the  boy,  an  evil-visaged 
imp,  skulking  away  toward  the  gallows.  Looking  Lack 
over  his  shoulder,  with  a  sly,  cunning  smile. 

"  Mother,  stand  alone  one  minute,"  he  said,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper. 

The  old  woman  could  not  stand  without  support,  but 
she  fell  back  against  the  gallows  timbers,  looking 
wildly  in  his  face.  He  waited  for  nothing,  but  sprang 
into  the  crowd  with  the  bound  of  a  panther,  grappled 
the  lad  by  the  throat,  just  as  his  hand  touched  an  end 
of  the  rope  which  had  fallen  over  the  scaffold.  With 
the  strength  of  a  giant  he  lifted  the  boy  high  in  the  air 
with  both  hands,  and  pitched  him  far  over  the  heads  of 
the  multitude.  Here  the  urchin  fluttered  and  turned, 
like  some  uncouth  bird,  till  he  was  engulfed  by  the 
crowd,  amid  shouts  of  laughter  and  wild  exclamations 
of  astonishment. 

Pale  and  trembling  with  rage,  Rice  turned  upon  the 
man  who  had  instigated  this  dastardly  act,  but  the 
craven  took  prompt  warning,  and  plunged  into  the 
crowd,  which,  closing  upon  him,  left  Rice  with  his  hand 
clenched  and  specks  of  foam  trembling  on  his  lips.  A 
hand  was  laid  heavily  on  his  shoulder.  Thinking  it 
was  some  constable  ready  to  arrest  him,  Rice  turned, 
but  only  to  meet  a  mild  and  elderly  face,  whose  placid 
eyes  looked  gently  into  his.  It  was  old  Mr.  Thrasher. 

"  Stop,  stop,  my  friend.  Let  the  laws  be  fulfilled 
without  tumult.  God  may  be  doing  a  great  work  here." 

"But  what  is  man  now  doing,  I  should  like  to 
know?"  cried  the  angry  sailor.  "Can  your  God  look 
down  on  such  work  as  this  and  not  hate  the  people  He 
has  made  ?  Look  at  this  girl  1  look,  at  the  old  woman 
yonder !  My  mother  and  my  sister !" 


394:  THE     MOTHER     AND     SON. 

"  Your  mother — sister !     Then  you  are  David  Rice  ?" 

"Yes,  I  am  Dave  Rice,  that  old  woman's  son.  I 
hadn't  seen  her  for  nigh  upon  eight  years,  and  this  is 
how  I  find  her  1"  cried  Dave,  shaking  all  over  with  a 
burst  of  grief ;  "and  that's  how  I  find  my  half  sister,  the 
sweetest  little  child  that  man  ever  sat  eyes  on." 

Great  tears  trembled  in  his  eyes  and  dropped  down 
his  cheeks,  he  wiped  them  away  with  the  cuff  of  his 
sailor's  jacket,  dashing  his  hand  down  in  a  passion  of 
self-contempt. 

"  What  has  the  girl  done  ?  What  does  this  all  mean  ? 
If  you  know,  tell  me — do  tell  me  I" 

"  Be  calm — be  still !"  aswered  Thrasher,  in  a  voice 
that  carried  soothing  in  its  very  tones.  "  She  is  inno- 
cent as  a  lamb." 

"  Innocent,  and  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  say  it  again,  in  spite  of  her  trial — in  spite 
of  her  sentence,  just  now  commenced.  Your  sister  is 
innocent  of  the  murder." 

"  The  murder !     God  help  us !" 

"  The  murder  of  her  child  1" 

"  Her  child  I     My  little  sister's  child !" 

"  Wait — wait  till  you  see  her.  She  has  bound  me  by 
a  promise,  but  you  are  her  brother,  and  have  rights.  I 
am  glad  you  have  come.  With  your  knowledge  of  sea- 
life  he  may  be  found.  My  son,  Nelson  Thrasher,  I 
mean." 

"  Nelson  Thrasher !  And  what  has  he  to  do  with  her 
and  this  ?" 

"Nothing  with  this.  It  would  distress  him  as  it 
does  us,  but  he  is  away — knows  nothing  about  it,  and 

she But,  hush !  the  time  is  up.  The  sheriff  tells 

her  to  come  down." 


THE     MOTHER     AND     SON.  395 

The  two  men  moved  closer  to  the  scaffold.  At  the 
voice  of  the  sheriff  Katharine  lifted  her  head  slowly, 
and  cast  a  frightened  look  at  the  crowd,  which  became 
more  and  more  riotous  as  the  hour  closed.  For  the 
first  time  that  day  a  -faint  flush  stole  to  her  forehead, 
and  her  eyes  quailed  with  affright  from  all  the  eager 
faces  uplifted  toward  her.  The  sheriff  spoke  again 
before  she  attempted  to  arise.  Then  a  voice  followed 
his,  saying: 

"  Take  courage,  Katharine,  we  are  here  1" 

She  knew  the  voice  well,  arose,  unsteadily,  to  her  feet, 
and  staggered,  in  a  blind  way,  across  the  scaffold,  with 
her  arms  held  out.  The  changeable  mob  began  to  pity 
her  then,  for  the  sight  of  her  face  might  have  moved  the 
very  stones  to  compassion.  More  kindly  murmurs 
reached  her ;  you  could  see  it  by  the  quiver  of  her  fea- 
tures and  the  pathetic  helplessness  with  which  she  looked 
toward  the  spot  whence  the  voices  came. 

David  Rice  could  bear  the  scene  no  longer ;  he  rushed 
by  the  sheriff,  sprang  upon  the  scaffold,  and  took  the 
unhappy  girl  in  his  arms,  crying  out  : 

"  Katy,  Katy !  God  forgive  them,  for  they  are  killing 
you!  My  sister,  my  little  sister!" 

She  may  have  heard  his  voice,  and  the  name  by  which 
he  called  her ;  if  so,  it  smote  the  remaining  strength 
from  her  frame,  for  she  fell  away  in  his  arms,  limp  and 
dead,  like  a  lily  broken  at  the  stalk. 

The  sheriff  would  have  taken  her  from  those  strong 
arms,  but  Rice  waved  him  back. 

"Don't  be  afeared,  don't  be  afeared,"  he  said,  hoarse 
with  grief;  "  I  shan't  run  away  with  the  poor  lamb ;  but 
she's  dead,  and  no  one  but  her  brother  shall  touch  her. 
Keep  as  close  as  you  like.  Show  me  the  way  to  her 


396  THE     MOTHER     AND     SON, 

prison.  I  aint  a  going  to  break  any  law ;  but  she's  my 
sister,  and  that  poor  old  soul  there  is  my  mother.  Help 
her  along,  if  you've  got  a  heart,  and  leave  this  poor 
lamb  to  me. " 

The  sheriff  had  no  heart  to  separate  the  prisoner  from 
her  newly-found  brother ;  he  would  even  have  aided  old 
Mrs.  Allen,  as  Rice  had  desired,  but  Mr.  Thrasher  and 
his  good  wife  were  by  her  side,  supporting  her  with  such 
kindly  help  that  any  offers  of  assistance  would  have 
been  intrusive.  Thus  surrounded  by  constables,  the 
little  group  gathered  in  a  close  knot,  carrying  Katharine 
Allen  from  her  place  of  shame. 

The  crowd  fell  back  reverently  before  Rice,  who  fol- 
lowed the  sheriff  with  the  tread  of  a  lion,  while  that 
white  face  rested  on  his  shoulder.  This  last  anguish 
had  left  her  like  a  corpse  before  the  crowd  had  changed 
All  its  impatient  revilings  into  compassion.  The  chil- 
dren looked  frightened  or  began  to  cry  when  they  saw 
terror  or  tears  upon  their  mother's  cheeks.  The  men 
grew  pale,  and  looked  at  each  other  upbraidingly,  as  the 
Jews  must  have  done  when  the  great  sacrifice  was  urged 
forward  by  their  hands. 

Thus  the  little  group  passed  away  from  the  crowd  and 
into  the  dark  shadows  of  a  prison,  which  seemed  like 
heaven  to  this  poor  girl  when  she  came  to  life,  with  the 
remembrance  of  all  those  glaring  eyes  and  scowling 
faces  turning  their  hate  upon  her. 


THE     EMPTY     HOUSE.  397 

CHAPTER    LIX. 

THE   EMPTY   HOUSE. 

WHEN  David  Rice  left  the  jail  that  night,  ne  had  the 
certificate  of  his  sister's  marriage  in  his  bosom,  and 
under  it  was  a  stern  resolve  to  find  out  the  man  who  had 
left  her  to  the  chance  of  all  this  suffering,  and  bring  him 
to  a  stern  account. 

There  was  no  need  of  his  going  further  now ;  all  the 
bright  hopes  of  the  morning  were  swept  away.  The 
broken  household  around  that  prison  was  all  he  could 
find  of  his  old  home.  But  the  gloom  of  this  place  was 
too  oppressive ;  fresh  from  the  broad  sweep  of  the  ocean, 
he  could  not  breathe  in  all  this  close  misery. 

The  next  day,  Rice  escaped  from  the  contemplation 
of  all  this  ruin,  and  took  a  long  walk  into  the  country, 
bending  his  way  toward  Hotchkistown.  The  rapid  ex- 
ercise cooled  the  fever  of  his  blood,  while  it  deepened 
the  profound  compassion  excited  by  his  sister's  wrongs. 
As  he  was  passing  under  the  shadows  of  the  East  Rock, 
a  traveller,  coming  from  an  opposite  direction,  appeared 
in  the  distance.  Rice  instantly  knew  the  little  valise 
and  the  upright  figure  of  the  man.  It  was  the  companion 
from  whom  he  had  parted  only  the  day  before.  But  why 
had  he  returned  so  soon  ?  What  was  the  meaning  of 
that  quick,  almost  fierce,  walk  ? 

The  two  men  drew  close  to  each  other,  and,  pre-occu- 
pied  as  they  were,  stopped  abruptly  in  mutual  surprise, 
each  astonished  by  the  change  that  had  come  upon  the 
other. 


398  THE     EMPTY     HOUSE. 

"  Rice,  my  poor  friend !" 

"  Captain,  what  is  the  matter  ?  I  know  that  you  have 
heard ;  but  my  troubles  can't  have  done  this." 

The  stranger  wrung  the  hand  which  Rice  held  out, 
but  he  did  not  speak — the  encounter  had  come  upon  him 
suddenly. 

"  You  found  all  well  at  home,  I  hope,"  said  Rice. 
"  Don't  tell  me  that  any  thing  has  gone  wrong  there,  I 
couldn't  stand  it." 

The  stranger  wrung  his  friend's  hand  again.  "  Rice, 
I  found  the  house  empty." 

"  Empty !     What,  moved  ?» 

"  Gone,  both  of  them ;  God  only  knows  where." 

"  Gone !" 

"  No  one  can  tell  me  where.  The  house  was  shut  up. 
The  grass  had  grown  high  around  the  gate.  The  bucket 
from  long  disuse  had  dropped  to  pieces  on  the  well-pole. 
This  is  all  that  I  can  gather  of  a  certainty." 

"  And  did  the  neighbors  know  nothing  ?" 

"  They  told  me  a  great  deal,  but  it  led  to  nothing ;  my 
wife  really  gave  no  one  an  idea  of  what  she  intended  to  do. 
I  see  how  it  is ;  she  was  very  proud,  and  thinking  herself 
compelled  to  work  for  a  living  went  off  into  some 
strange  place. '  It  was  like  her,  but  where  can  I  go,  how 
search  her  out  ?  She  left  no  trace.  '  Surely  she  might 
have  waited  a  few  months  longer  !" 

The  proud  anguish  in  his  friend's  voice  drew  Rice 
from  his  own  troubles. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  I  will  turn  back,  and  we  will  talk 
this  over.  Some  way  will  be  found.  '  Never  give  up 
the  ship.'  That  has  been  our  motto  for  many  a  day, 
captain.  The  storm  has  burst  on  me,  and  it  may  reach 
you,  but  we'll  sail  in  the  same  boat  anyhow." 


THE     EMPTY     HOUSE.  399 

"  But  this  suspense  is  terrible,  Rice.  Does  it  seem 
possible  that  a  man  should  be  made  so  wretched  in  a 
single  day  ?  But  for  this  hard  walk  I  should  have  gone 
crazy." 

"  I  know  what  it  is,  captain ;  all  my  timbers  are  shak- 
ing now  with  what  happened  yesterday,  but  I've  seen 
many  a  wreck  come  up  shipshape  again.  Let's  keep 
afore  the  breeze,  if  it  does  blow  a  gale.  I  feel  sartin 
that  our  course  lies  the  same  way,  somehow.  Here,  give 
us  hold  of  j'our  valise.  You  look  clean  tuckered  out." 

The  man  surrendered  his  valise  with  a  faint  smile, 
saying : 

"  I  only  intended  to  go  on  a  little  till  the  stage 
overtook  me,  but  forgot  all  about  it,  or  that  I  was  walk- 
ing fast,  till  ten  minutes'  rest  convinced  me  how  tired 
I  was."  That  moment  the  heavy  stage-coach  came 
swinging  round  a  corner  of  the  turnpike,  its  four  horses 
galloping  forward  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  through  which  a 
bright,  boyish  face  was  seen  leaning  out  of  the  window. 

"  Hallo,  there,  I  say,  you  driver,  let  me  out — hurry — 
can't  you  hear  a  fellow  ?  What  are  you  thinking  on  ?" 

The  driver  heard  this  energetic  shout  above  the  tramp 
of  his  horses,  and  drew  up,  covering  the  travellers  by 
the  wa}'-side  with  a  storm  of  dust. 

The  lad  opened  the  heavy  stage  door  for  himself  and 
sprang  out,  telling  the  driver,  with  a  magnificent  nour- 
ish of  the  hand,  that  he  could  treat  himself  with  the 
extra  fare,  paid  in  advance,  from  Hotchkistown  to  New 
Haven.  Then  he  began  advising  two  old  ladies  in  the 
back  seat  to  take  a  little  more  room  and  make  them- 
selves comfortable,  a  piece  of  consideration  that  was 
cut  short  by  a  sharp  crash  of  the  door,  and  a  lurch  of 
the  stage,  which  set  the  establishment  in  motion  again. 


400  TOM     HUTCH  INS'     LETTER. 

Left  alone  in  the  street  our  friend  Tom  took  a  rapid 
survey  of  the  two  men,  and  advanced  toward  them, 
lifting  his  new  straw  hat,  which  sported  a  red  ribbon 
around  the  crown,  after  a  fashion  which  he  had  admired 
greatly  in  little  Paul,  and  regarding  this  a  proper  occa- 
sion, practiced  with  considerable  effect.  He  glanced  at 
Rice  with  a  rather  dissatisfied  air,  and  partly  turned 
his  back  on  him  while  addressing  the  other  person. 

"  I  reckoned  I  should  find  you  somewhere  on  the 
road,  captain,  and  so  cut  after,"  he  said,  turning  his 
back  decidedly  on  Rice.  "Expected  to  find  you  all 
alone,  though." 

"  This  person  is  my  friend." 

"Yes,  sir,  but  he  isn't  mine,  so  if  you'd  just  as  lief 
step  round  back  of  that  juniper  bush,  mebby  I'll  tell 
you  something." 

The  person  addressed  as  captain  accepted  this  invi- 
tation, and  walked  to  the  other  side  of  a  juniper  tree, 
which  stood  close  by,  heavy  with  clusters  of  blue  ber- 
ries. Tom  followed  the  stranger  with  one  hand  thrust 
into  his  trowser's  pocket,  from  which  came  a  faint  rustle 
of  paper. 


CHAPTER    LX. 

TOM   HUTCHINS'  LETTER. 

"  WHEN  you  was  at  our  house,  talking  to  par,  I  heard 
purty  much  all  that  was  said,  and  should  a  heard  it  all 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  squalling  of  the  young  uns. 
Now  he  didn't  know  a  circumstance  to  what  I  did.  Just 


TOM     HUT  CHINS'     LETTER.  401 

driving  a  person  down  to  a  sloop  don't  amount  to  noth- 
ing, if  you  can't  tell  where  she  was  a  going." 

"  True  enough,  my  young  friend ;  but  what  more  can 
you  tell  me  ?" 

"  Well  now,  if  you'll  promise  not  to  laugh  or  poke 
fun  at  me,  I'll  up  and  tell." 

"  Well,  I  promise  that." 

"And  you  wont  be  mad,  nor  nothing  ?" 

"I  think  not." 

"And — and —  "  Here  Tom  grew  red  as  a  winter  apple, 
and  stammered  most  unmerciful. 

"  Well,  and  what  ?  I  dare  say  you  can  ask  nothing 
which  I  will  not  promise." 

"Well,  you  wont  set  yourself  agin  me  and  Hose 
when  we've  grown  up,  and — and — " 

The  stranger  started,  and  his  countenance  changed. 

"What  can  you  know  of  my — of  Rose?"  he  said, 
sharply. 

"  Oh,  now  you're  getting  mad  !" 

"  No,  no  ;  but  you  tell  me  nothing." 

Tom  withdrew  his  hand  and  buttoned  up  the  pocket 
with  emphasis. 

"  Besides  that,  I  aint  a  going  to.  How  far  is  it  back 
to  Bungy  ?  I  can  foot  it  there  afore  dark,  and  no  harm 
done." 

"  But  you  had  something  to  tell  me." 

"  Yes,  sir.  Come  all  this  way  a  purpose  to  tell  it. 
"Now  I'm  going  back  agin — no  damage  to  nobody." 

The  captain  grew  pale  with  anxiety. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  desire,  and  speak  out,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  I  don't  desire  nothing  of  nobody.  Ask  our 
doctor  if  I'm  that  sort  of  chap  ;  but  you  come  to  our 
house  and  asked  questions  about  a  lady  that  I  know,  in 
25 


402  TO'M     HUTCH  INS'     LETTER. 

a  sort  of  mealy-mouthed  way,  as  if  you  didn't  like  to 
speak  out  and  say  to  old  neighbors,  '  She's  gone  off  and 
I  don't  know  where.'  Par  didn't  know,  and  consequent- 
ly couldn't  tell.  I  kinder  did  ;  but  with  the  old  folks 
by,  and  the  baby  squalling,  what  could  a  feller  do  ?" 

"  Where — where  are  they?" 

"  Now  there's  the  question.  I  want  to  make  a  bargain 
with  you." 

"Boy,  boy,  this  is  too  much." 

Tom  Hutchins  looked  at  him  earnestly. 

"I'll  trust  you!"  he  exclaimed,  unbuttoning  his 
pocket  in  breathless  haste,  and  drawing  forth  a  tiny 
letter,  folded  after  the  peculiar  fashion  that  school-girls 
affect.  "  Perhaps  you  know  that  ere  writing — scrump- 
tious fine  hand,  aint  it  ?  Jest  look  on  the  outside — Mr. 
Thomas  Hutchins — don't  it  look  splendid  ?" 

As  Tom  uttered  these  words,  he  unfolded  the  dainty 
little  epistle,  and  held  it  forth. 

The  captain's  hand  shook  as  he  received  the  paper, 
and  a  mist  came  over  his  eyes  before  it  was  read  through. 

"Mr.  Thomas  Hutchins: 

"  DEAR  FRIEND  : — I  take  up  my  pen  to  inform  you 
that  I  am  in  good  health,  and  hope  you  are  enjoying  the 
same  blessing.  I  have  got  a  nice  gentleman  and  lady 
to  live  with,  and  am  learning  French  like  any  thing. 
There  is  a  colored  man  called  Jube,  and  a  young  gen- 
tleman named  Paul.  They  know  French,  and  help  me 
to  speak  it.  I  have  got  your  robins'  eggs  yet,  and  mean 
to  keep  them  all  my  life.  Please  do  not  let  any  one  see 
this  letter.  I  promised  you  to  write  the  minute  we  got 
anywhere ;  but  it  was  a  long  time  before  I  knew  how 
people  sent  letters ;  besides,  I  didn't  know  how  to  write 


TOM  nUTCHINS'  LETTER.     403 

fine  hand  then.  Direct  your  letter  to  Miss  Rose  Mason, 
Bays  Hollow.  It  will  reach  me  ;  for  since  mother  went 
away,  there  isn't  any  Miss  Mason  but  me." 

There  seemed  to  be  some  trouble  about  ending  the 
letter,  for  two  attempts  at  erasure  with  a  penknife  were 
visible ;  but  it  finally  concluded  with  the  girlish  signa- 
ture of 

"  Your  loving  friend, 

"KosE  MASON." 

The  captain  read  this  letter  over  and  over  again,  till 
the  tears  rose  to  his  eyes  and  his  chest  began  to  heave. 

"Will  you  give  me  this  letter,  boy  ?"  he  said,  in  a 
broken  voice. 

"  Couldn't,"  said  Tom.  "  Money  hasn't  got  power  to 
buy  it.  You'd  think  so  if  you  only  knew  how  much 
time  it  took  for  me  to  write  the  answer." 

"And  you  think  Rose  is  in  this  place  now?" 

"  Think  !  Don't  I  know  it.  Haven't  I  reckoned  up 
how  much  it  would  cost  to  get  there  fifty  times  !  Only 
to  think  of  hearing  her  talk  French !  My  1" 

The  captain  reached  forth  his  hand,  and  shook  that 
of  Tom,  with  deep  emotion. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  my  boy?"  he  said. 

"  Nothing ;  only  if  you  go  to  the  Hollow,  don't  forget 
to  give  my  best  respects  to  Miss  Rose  Mason,  and  tell 
her — no,  you  needn't  say  nothing  about  it — what's  the 
use  ?" 

•  "  I  will  tell  her  that  you  are  a  brave,  generous  boy, 
and  that  I  am  eternally  indebted  to  you,"  said  the  cap- 
tain. 

"That's  very  kind  of  you  captin;  but  if  you  could 
only  say  man — now  a  generous  man — I  should  be  much 


UNSATISFIED     VANITY. 

obliged.  You  haven't  no  idea  how  much  too  short  my 
winter  trowsers  are !" 

"  I  will  say  any  thing  to  prove  how  happy  you  have 
made  me.  The  dear  child — and  this  is  her  writing  ?" 
answered  the  captain,  reading  the  letter  a  third  time. 

Tom  watched  him  keenly,  till  the  blood  mounted  into 
his  fine  face.  Some  great  struggle  was  going  on  in  his 
heart,  that  at  last  burst  forth  in  words. 

"Take  it,"  he  said;  "keep  the  letter.  I  give  it  up; 
but  when  you  see  her  remember  that  it  bust  my  heart 
to  do  it.  Good-by,  captain.  Some  time  or  another  I 
shall  want  something  of  you,  but  wait  till  I've  stopped 
growing.  There's  all  the  world  afore  us.  Good-by." 

The  captain  called  after  him.  Tom  refused  to  look 
back,  but  marched  off  at  a  quick  pace,  waving  his 
hand.  The  truth  is,  our  youngster's  face  was  bathed 
in  tears.  It  really  had  almost  broken  his  heart  to  give 
up  the  letter — the  first  and  dearest  epistle  of  his  life. 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

UNSATISFIED    VANITY. 

MR.  NELSON  had  placed  a  Nemesis  in  his  household, 
and  she  gave  him  full  measure  of  retribution.  The  few 
days  of  sunshine  which  he  had  purchased,  soon  faded 
away;  and  he  was  left  to  wander  to  and  fro  in  that 
splendid  house,  more  desolate  than  the  pauper  whom 
his  wife  sent  haughtily  from  his  door. 

Step  by  step,  the  woman  for  whom  he  had  sacrificed 


UNSATISFIED     VANITY.  405 

every  thing,  became  a  very  tyrant  in  his  house.  Indiffer- 
ent at  first,  then  arrogant,  and  at  last  insufferably  inso- 
lent, she  scarcely  gave  him  breathing  room  in  his  own 
home.  The  very  tread  of  his  foot  in  the  vestibule  filled 
her  with  a  sort  of  resentment,  as  if  he  had  no  right,  in 
any  degree,  to  disturb  the  luxury  of  her  existence. 
Nothing  but  her  insatiable  vanity  won  for  him  even  a 
gleam  of  favor.  That  was  the  strong  passion  of  her 
nature,  and  in  its  complete  gratification  she  sometimes 
condescended  to  endure  his  presence  with  some  show  of 
cheerfulness. 

True,  Mrs.  Nelson  was  now  comparatively  indepen- 
dent. A  few  short  weeks  of  coquetry — for  that  is  really 
the  name  by  which  her  attempts  at  affection  should  be 
given — had  won  this  much  from  her  infatuated  victim ; 
but  it  often  happens  that  a  woman  who  scatters  her 
husband's  money  with  recklessness,  proves  parsimonious 
where  her  own  is  concerned.  This  was  the  case  with 
Mrs.  Nelson ;  she  had  no  fancy  for  diminishing  her  own 
resources  ;  on  the  contrary,  she  had,  without  consulting 
Nelson,  placed  them  in  a  way  to  command  more  than 
the  usual  interest,  at  the  inevitable  result  of  more  than 
ordinary  risk. 

Thus  the  demands  of  unlimited  extravagance  made  it 
important  that  something  like  marital  cordiality  should 
be  maintained  with  her  husband,  and  from  this  neces- 
sity, gleams  of  coquettish  affection  would  sometimes 
break  upon  his  loneliness,  which  she  foolishly  believed 
would  always  prove  sufficient  to  keep  him  at  her  feet. 

It  is  generally  the  dregs  of  poor  wine  that  become  sour. 
That  love  can  turn  to  hate,  no  one  who  ever  felt  the 
true  passion  will  believe.  But  there  are  mixed  feelings 
that  combine  with  affection  in  evil  natures,  like  foreign 


406  UNSATISFIED     VANITY. 

ingredients  in  the  wine,  and  these  yield  to  circumstan- 
ces as  that  does  to  the  atmosphere,  turning  to  indiffer- 
ence,-contempt,  or  hate,  as  the  case  may  be. 

This  change  was  going  on  with  Nelson.  His  wife 
did  not  see  it,  for,  with  a  good  deal  of  cleverness,  she 
had  not  the  intellect  to  comprehend  a  character  like  his, 
Her  reign  over  him  had  been  so  complete — he  had  re- 
ceived her  slightest  favors  with  such  gratitude — that 
any  idea  of  revolt  never  entered  her  mind.  A  few  bland- 
ishments had  always  obtained  power  over  him  to  any 
extent,  and  these  she  had  always  at  command. 

But  she  too  was  setting  up  a  Nemesis  in  the  house- 
hold, not  the  less  powerful  that  it  was  slow  to  come. 

This  woman's  life  had  become  one  wild  commotion — 
nothing  contented  her.  The  desire  of  one  day  was 
flung  off  by  the  caprice  of  the  next.  The  house  was 
one  thoroughfare  of  fashion.  Her  position  once  ac- 
knowledged in  that  world  which  every  one  talks  of,  but 
which,  in  a  republic  like  ours,  is  never  permanently 
denned — her  hold  upon  it  became  complete  ;  but  it  was 
maintained  at  great  cost ;  morning  breakfasts,  evening 
parties,  and  those  exquisite  little  suppers  which  are  the 
gems  of  a  sumptuous  establishment,  came  and  went  in 
endless  succession.  Her  life  was  a  triumph  of  vanity — • 
her  ambition  fulfilled.  She  had  no  character  for  higher 
aspirations,  and  only  aimed  at  something  new,  some- 
thing that  would  sweep  all  social  competition  aside. 

This  was  altogether  opposed  to  Nelson's  ideas  of 
domestic  life.  His  ambition  was  of  a  sterner  nature. 
He  wanted  power  abroad,  and  domestic  love  at  home. 
But  the  woman  he  had  chosen  overshadowed  him  with 
her  dashing  frivolity — put  him  aside  with  her  insolent 
pretension.  His  strong  nature  revolted  at  last.  Month 


UNSATISFIED     VANITY.  407 

after  month  he  had  walked  through  her  magnificent 
festivities  like  a  stranger,  scarcely  recognized  by  her 
guests,  or  approached  by  herself,  unless  the  great  need 
of  money  brought  her  smiling  to  his  presence,  and  all 
this  time  one  fact  was  brooding  in  his  mind — for  all  his 
love  the  woman  had  given  him  nothing. 

These  thoughts  hardened  the  rich  man  against  the 
woman  he  had  almost  adored.  He  grew  sombre  and 
stern  as  a  rock.  No  one  ever  saw  him  smile,  or  if  he 
did,  the  gleam  of  a  serpent  stole  into  his  eyes,  reveal- 
ing the  venom  within.  This  state  of  things  might  have 
gone  on  for  months,  perhaps  years,  but  for  a  new  source 
of  excitement  which  the  lady  had  searched  out  for 
herself.  Hitherto  the  expense  and  ostentation  of  her 
life  had  been  its  chief  objection.  But  display  requires 
great  genius  in  its  arrangement  not  to  become  mono- 
tonous, and  of  all  things  on  earth  the  routine  of  a 
merely  fashionable  life  is  the  least  interesting.  Mrs. 
Nelson  began  to  feel  this.  Even  the  triumphs  of  her 
vanity  grew  sickly ;  she  wanted  new  fields  for  display. 
This  feeling  led  her  to  the  very  verge  of  a  precipice. 
There  was  one  corner  in  Nelson's  heart  in  which  a 
sleeping  serpent  lay  coiled,  which  even  she  must  not 
dare  to  arouse.  But  with  her  usual  audacity  she 
trampled  even  there. 

In  New  York  there  is  always  a  floating  population  of 
foreigners  whose  business  it  is  to  be  amused,  and  who 
have,  with  the  aid  of  liberal  travel  abroad,  introduced 
many  customs  into  our  republican  society  which  a  New 
Englauder  of  any  class  is  not  quite  prepared  to  accept. 

Now  Mrs.  Nelson  began  to  weary  of  her  fashionable 
dissipation — the  attentions  of  those  very  men  made  one 
of  the  chief  attractions  of  her  life.  They  were  invited 


408  UNSATISFIED     VANITY. 

to  her  house ;  she  received  with  pleasure  their  exagger- 
ated flatteries,  and  gradually  her  whole  mode  of  thought 
became  so  changed  that  the  woman  was  scarcely  to  be 
recognized. 

What  Nelson  suffered  at  first  is  beyond  the  power  of 
description ;  although  it  wounded  his  pride  terribly,  he 
gave  these  troubles  no  utterance,  and  had  scarcely  ex- 
pressed a  word  of  disapproval,  but  his  brow  grew  heavy 
with  frowns  and  an  iron  pressure  of  the  mouth  became 
habitual.  lie  never  sought  his  wife's  presence  now,  and 
even  passed  her,  if  they  chanced  to  meet,  with  lowering 
avoidance. 

With  this  new  caprice  Mrs.  Nelson's  extravagance  had 
somewhat  abated,  and  having  no  special  favors  to  ask, 
she  treated  her  husband's  frowns  with  the  utmost  dis- 
dain, if  for  a  moment  they  excited  her  attention.  He 
took  no  pains  to  enforce  his  displeasure  upon  her,  but 
with  stolid  firmness  went  on  his  way. 

During  her  married  life  this  woman  had  made  many 
efforts  to  find  out  the  sources  of  her  husband's  wealth,  but 
except  that  all  her  expenditures  were  supplied  in  foreign 
gold,  she  could  form  no  real  idea  of  his  resources.  But 
this  fact  convinced  her  that  he  must  have  made  vast  in- 
vestments abroad,  and  the  strongest  desire  she  had  left 
was  to  ascertain  the  exact  position  and  amount  of  these 
investments,  which,  in  the  end,  must,  she  was  certain, 
become  her  own,  either  by  depletion  or  bequest. 

But  for  the  fixed  conviction  of  his  wife's  indifference, 
the  art  of  this  woman  would,  in  the  end,  have  gained 
the  information  she  craved ;  but  Nelson  felt  that  in  this 
secret  lay  his  entire  hold  on  her.  In  fact  he  dared  not 
trust  her  or  divide  the  corroding  anxieties  of  his  exist- 
ence with  any  human  being. 


ARTFUL     FASCINATIONS.  40J 

At  length,  in  the  pauses  of  a  foreign  flirtation,  for  with 
her  these  things  never  approached  a  point  beyond  that 
of  gratified  vanity,  she  began  to  reflect  on  the  persistent 
silence  of  her  husband,  and  viewing  him  as  the  source 
of  all  her  luxuries,  became  vaguely  uneasy,  as  she  had 
clone  once  before,  lest  he  should  escape  her  control. 

One  evening,  when  it  chanced  that  she  had  no  visitors, 
this  doubt  came  across  her,  and  under  its  influence  she 
went  in  search  of  her  husband. 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

ARTFUL    FASCINATIONS. 

TIIRASHER  was  sitting  alone  in  the  room  we  have 
spoken  of,  reading  or  appearing  to  read,  a  large  book 
that  lay  open  on  the  library  table.  The  rustle  of  a 
purple  brocaded  dress  as  it  swept  over  the  tessellated 
floor,  disturbed  him.  He  raised  his  head  and  looked 
steadily  in  his  wife's  face  as  she  approached,  but  without 
a  sign  either  of  gladness  or  anger. 

"  Always  alone,"  she  said,  playfully  leaning  over  his 
shoulder — "  always  studying  and  leaving  his  poor  wife 
to  her  solitude." 

He  looked  at  her  keenly,  turning  his  head  with 'a 
gesture  of  avoidance,  but  still  reading  her  with  his  eyes. 

"  What  do  you  want  now,  in  idame  ?" 

She  absolutely  turned  pale  to  the  lips.  There  was 
no  anger  in  his  tone,  but  it  cut  through  her  flippancy 
like  a  sworcl. 


410  ARTFUL     FASCINATIONS. 

'"  What  do  I  want,  Nelson  ?"  she  faltered. 

"  Yes,  how  much  ?" 

The  tones  were  sharp  with  sarcasm ;  she  winced  under 
them,  and  slowly  removed  her  arm  from  his  shoulder. 
The  massive  bracelets  she  wore  jingled  faintly  with 
the  motion.  Nelson  glanced  at  them  with  a ,  bitter 
sneer. 

"  Those  things  were  not  among  the  jewels  I  gave  you." 

She  flushed  to  the  temples. 

"  No,"  she  said,  with  some  truth ;  "  you  always  seemed 
anxious  and  troubled,  so " 

"  So  you  accepted  these  from  some  one  else  ?" 

"  No,  I  bought  them.  Who  would  give  me  any  thing 
that  I  cannot  purchase  for  myself?  The  jeweller  im- 
ported them  expressly  to  tempt  me." 

She  resumed  all  her  confidence  now.  This  allusion  to 
the  jewels  soothed  her  into  the  idea  that  it  was  only  a 
spasm  of  jealousy  which  had  influenced  his  words.  She 
leaned  her  white  arm  on  his  shoulder  again,  and  touched 
his  cheek  with  her  own,  glancing  down  on  the  book  he 
had  been  reading. 

He  closed  the  volume  suddenly,  and  leaned  his  arm 
upon  it. 

"And  you  wont  let  me  read  ?" 

"No." 

"  Want  me  out  of  the  way,  perhaps  ?" 

"  Yes !" 

The  woman  rose  to  her  full  height,  and  in  her  haughty 
anger  would  have  swept  from  the  room,  but  on  second 
thought  she  drew  a  chair,  and  sat  down  opposite  him, 
leaning  her  arm  on  the  table. 

"Nelson,"  she  said,  in  her  clear,  rich  voice,  which, 
spite  of  herself,  shook  with  suppressed  passion,  "}'ou 


ARTFUL     FASCINATIONS.  411 

are  angry  because  I  have  had  so  little  time  to  give  you 
of  late." 

He  looked  her  steadily  in  the  face. 

"  No,  Ellen,  I  am  not  angry  at  any  thing." 

"  Then  why  are  you  so  stern  with  me  ?" 

"Because  I  am  myself  again." 

The  woman  was  really  frightened  ;  the  impolicy  of  her 
late  conduct  forced  itself  upon  her ;  for  a  moment  she 
sat  biting  her  lips  in  silence. 

"You  had  better  go  to  your  room,"  he  said,  quietly; 
"the  marble  floor  is  cold." 

"  Not  half  as  cold  as  your  heart,"  she  answered,  with 
a  burst  of  tears.  "Ah,  Nelson,  how  can  you  treat  me 
so  cruelly  ?  Me,  who — who " 

"Who  love  me  so  dearly,"  he  said,  with  one  of  the 
most  cutting  sneers  that  ever  disfigured  a  man's  coun- 
tenance. 

These  were  the  very  words  she  had  been  trying  to 
utter,  but  they  lodged  in  her  throat.  He  had  anticipated 
the  falsehood  with  a  sneer.  She  arose  haughtily.  Tears 
rolled  down  her  flushed  cheeks.  She  was  really  a  beau- 
tiful woman ;  but  her  loveliness  had  no  effect  on  him 
then.  In  her  reckless  vanity  she  had  wounded  him  al- 
most beyond  repair,  and  his  bosom  serpent  crested  itself 
fiercely. 

"  I  did  not  expect  this,"  she  said,  in  pale  anger.  "  You 
shall  never  have  a  chance  to  insult  me  again." 

"  I  did  not  seek  it  now.  It  is  not  my  wish  that  you 
should  ever  come  here  " 

"Why,  what  great  secret  do  you  keep  in  this  room ?" 
she  said,  speaking  at  random,  in  her  anger.  "  One 
would  think  you  had  a  hidden  treasure  here." 

The  sudden  pallor  that  spread  over  his  face  struck 


412  ARTFUL     FASCINATIONS. 

her  dumb ;  what  had  she  said  to  arouse  this  white  rage  ? 
The  words  escaped  her  memory  as  they  were  uttered, 
but  they  had  given  him  a  blow  on  the  heart.  Nelson 
recovered  himself  promptly. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  less  of  bitterness  in  his  voice, 
"you  have  chosen  to  seek  me  without  invitation  and 
without  motive,  so  far  as  I  can  understand.  If  you  have 
any  business,  let  me  know  it  ?" 

"  Cannot  a  woman  visit  her  husband  without  special 
business  ?"  retorted  the  wife. 

"  Her  husband  ?"  he  repeated,  in  a  low,  sneering 
voice. 

She  burst  into  tears. 

"Nelson,  this  is  cruel." 

"  Cruel ;  I  thought  you  did  not  understand  the  term  1" 

She  could  control  her  passion  no  longer,  but  stamped 
angrily  on  the  marble  floor  with  her  foot. 

"  Nelson  Thrasher,  this  is  too  much,  after  persecuting 
me  with  your  attentions,  begging  me  upon  your  knees 
to  become  your  wife.  I  am  insulted  in  my  own  house, 
sneered  at  almost  before  my  own  servants,  neglected, 
trampled  on " 

"  Be  silent,  madame !  these  complaints  are  false.  It  is 
I  who  have  been  outraged  and  insulted  ;  set  at  naught 
under  my  own  roof;  left  to  solitude,  when  my  heart 
ached  for  the  company  of  my  wife ;  and  all  because  I 
brought  to  you  a  devotion  more  perfect  than  man  ever 
gave  to  woman ;  because  I  loved  you  well  enough  to 
deserve  the  contempt  which  you  rain  upon  me." 

Mrs.  Nelson  began  to  cry  and  wring  her  hands  at  this, 
and,  after  the  fashion  of  widows  who  marry  a  second 
time,  sobbed  out :  "  It  was  no  more  than  she  deserved. 
Oh,  if  her  first  husband  had  only  lived — never  in  his 


ARTFUL     FASCINATIONS.  413 

whole  life  had  he  spoken  a  harsh  word  to  her.  Alas, 
what  a  fool  she  had  been !" 

Nelson  heard  her  impatiently ;  the  mention  of  Cap- 
tain Mason  did  not  soften  his  heart,  but  closed  it  even 
against  her  tears  and  the  beauty  that  they  brightened, 
as  dews  refresh  a  rose. 

She  paused  in  her  grief,  and  looked  at  him  from  under 
her  wet  eyelashes.  The  tears  rendered  her  glance  very 
tender  and  sorrowful.  His  countenance  softened.  She 
saw  it ;  and,  going  round  the  table,  leaned  over  his  chair, 
fanning  his  cheek  with  her  breath. 

"  Nelson,  have  you  really  ceased  to  love  me  ?" 

There  was  truth  in  the  bottom  of  the  man's  heart,  and 
he  could  not  answer  "  Yes ;"  so  he  was  silent,  and  sat 
beneath  her  caresses  with  downcast  eyes.  At  last  he 
looked  up.  There  was  forgiveness  in  his  face,  but  it  was 
stern  and  pale. 

"Ellen,  I  did  love  you — I  bought  you  at  a  fearful 
price.  How  much  I  gave,  how  much  I  risked,  you  will 
never  know.  How  miserable  I  have  been,  you  can  never 
guess.  All  I  asked  was  a  little  love  and  some  show  of 
respect.  You  gave  me  neither.  I  could  not  win  them 
with  entreaties  or  buy  them  with  gold.  You  never  loved 
me.  You  never  liked  me,  Ellen." 

She  moved  closer  to  him.  The  dew  upon  her  check 
cooled  Jpis  anger.  He  could  not  hate  her  quite  yet. 
The  time  might  come ;  but  it  was  sweet  to  put  it  off, 
even  for  a  little  while. 

"  But  I  love  you  now." 

As  this  soft  whisper  fell  upon  his  heart,  the  serpent 
that  had  lifted  his  crest  so  angrily  settled  down,  and 
went  to  sleep  stupidly,  as  if  it  never  would  uncoil  again. 

The  woman  bore  her  triumph  with  caution,  and  would 


414  ARTFUL     FASCINATIONS. 

not  seem  elated.  She  sank  to  his  side  on  one  knee, 
forcing  him  to  support  her  head  with  his  hand,  which 
yielded  to  the  guidance  of  her  soft  touch,  as  the  stern 
heart  had  given  way  to  her  caressing  speech. 

"  You  have  been  very  harsh  with  me,"  was  her  sweet 
reproach ;  "  and  all  because  I  cannot  be  happy  when 
you  will  not  trust  me." 

"Trust  you?" 

"  Yes ;  you  keep  secrets  from  me.  You  are  jealous 
because  other  men  admire  me." 

"  No,  Ellen  ;  I  am  jealous  because  you  have  no  value 
for  my  admiration,  not  because  others  think  }rou  beau- 
tiful." 

"  But  you  keep  secrets  from  me." 

"What  secrets  ?"  he  faltered. 

"  Oh,  a  great  many." 

She  dared  not  come  to  the  point  at  once  for  his  face 
was  growing  dark  again. 

She  watched  his  face  keenly — it  lowered  like  a  thunder 
cloud.  That  pretence  of  jealousy  was  only  a  decoy  sub- 
ject— she  cared  nothing  for  his  early  love,  but  was  pain- 
fully intent  on  gaining  his  secret  of  the  treasures. 
Without  that  knowledge  she  must  be  forever  at  his 
mercy — always  going  through  scenes  like  the  one  which 
had  just  passed,  or  sink  back  into  comparative  poverty 
by  abandoning  him  altogether.  The  partial  indepen- 
dence which  he  had  bestowed  only  made  her  more  eager 
for  new  concessions. 

"Then  you  have  other  secrets.  Where  is  all  the 
great  wealth  you  told  me  of.  I  never  saw  it.  I  have 
no  proof  that  it  exists." 

She  spoke  very  naturally,  but  he  understood  her 
drift,  and  knew,  in  the  depths  of  his  heart,  that  it  was 


ARTFUL     FASCINATIONS.  415 

this  secret  which  chained  her  in  that  loving  position  at 
his  knee.  Still,  with  his  softened  feelings,  it  was  pleas- 
ant to  have  her  there  at  any  cost,  so  he  played  with  the 
question  as  a  good  angler  trifles  with  his  fly  on  the  sur- 
face of  a  lake. 

"  You  have  the  best  of  all  proof,  Ellen— that  of  spend- 
ing the  money." 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  what  is  that  compared  to  the  con- 
fidence of  one's  husband  ?" 

He  smiled  almost  pleasantly,  leaned  forward,  and 
opening  the  book  which  had  been  closed  from  her  in- 
spection, pointed  out  a  page  with  his  finger. 

"  What — the  Bible !"  she  exclaimed,  astonished  at  the 
nature  of  his  studies. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  quietly.  "I  was  reading  the  history 
of  Sampson." 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  the  blood  mounted 
slowly  to  her  forehead.  He  saw  the  flush,  and  turned 
away  his  eyes. 

Not  another  word  was  spoken.  She  arose  from  her 
half  kneeling  posture,  and  he  stood  up. 

"  You  will  not  trust  me  now,"  Avas  her  gentle  leave- 
taking,  "because  you  think  I  do  not  love  you,  but  time 
will  show  how  mistaken  you  are." 

She  reached  up  her  mouth  to  be  kissed,  but  he 
touched  her  forehead  with  his  lips,  and  she  went  away 
as  she  came,  rustling  her  silks  luxuriously  along  the 
mosaic  floor. 

He  followed  her  with  his  eyes  till  she  disappeared, 
then  sat  down,  supporting  his  forehead  with  one  hand. 

"Ah,  what  a  creature  she  is,"  he  murmured.  "If  one 
could  only  buy  her  in  selling  himself  to  perdition,  what 
man  would  shrink  from  the  price  ?  But  who  can  say 


41 6  ARTFUL     FASCINATIONS. 

that  he  possesses  her  ?  My  secret !  No,  Ellen  Mason  ! 
that  is  your  chain ! — the  shackle  that  keeps  you  here  1 
I  will  never  break  it — never  1" 

A  noise  at  the  door  caused  him  to  look  up.  She  had 
come  back,  and  stood  smiling  upon  him. 

"  You  defy  me — you  liken  me  to  that  woman  in  the 
Bible,  and  keep  secrets  from  me — this  is  a  good  reason 
for  amusing  myself  elsewhere.  I  will  not  do  that  any 
more.  Keep  your  secret,  and  hoard  your  treasures.  I 
will  not  trouble  you  concerning  them.  Only  let  us  be 
friends.  There  will  be  no  happiness  for  either  of  us 
without  that." 

The  woman  offered  her  kisses  again,  and  this  time  he 
did  not  avoid  her  lips — still  she  could  not  feel  that  her 
victory  was  complete. 

After  she  had  gone,  Nelson  cast  his  eyes  on  the  floor, 
and  started  with  an  exclamation  of  dismay.  When  his 
wife  fell  into  her  passion  she  had  stood  directly  over 
the  centre  ornament  in  the  massive  floor,  a  secret  spring 
had  yielded  to  the  stamp  of  her  foot,  the  stone  had 
whirled  from  its  place,  leaving  an  opening  of  some 
inches,  circling  half  around  the  centre  ornament  like  a 
crescent. 

"  Had  the  woman  seen  this  ?" 

The  thought  made  him  wild ;  great  drops  started  to 
his  forehead,  while  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  strove  to 
replace  the  stone.  It  shot  back  to  its  groove,  completing 
the  Mosaic  pattern.  When  all  was  secure,  he  sat  down 
and  fell  into  thought.  A  feeling  of  insecurity  seized 
upon  him;  would  this  woman  wrest  his  secrets  from 
him  after  all — not  by  her  fascinations,  but  through  craft 
and  watchfulness  ? 

No ;  he  would  make  sure  against  that.  The  ornament 
might  give  way  again,  but  it  should  tell  no  secrets. 


GATHERING     APPLES.  417 


CHAPTER     LXIII. 

GATHERING    APPLES. 

LITTLE  Paul  was  standing  under  the  apple  tree,  with 
Rose  Mason  close  by.  The  thick  grass  under  their  feet 
was  littered  with  golden  apples,  streaked  with  rosy  red, 
which  Jube  had  shaken  from  the  boughs. 

"  Here,  little  missus,"  cried  the  negro,  looking  down 
through  the  thick  leaves,  and  balancing  a  noble  apple  in 
his  hand.  "  Hold  up  your  apron,  little  missus,  and 
down  it  will  come  so  pretty  into  the  white  nest,  so." 

Rose  lifted  her  little  apron  of  ruffled  dimity,  and  held 
it  up,  laughing  and  shaking  her  golden  curls  in  the  sun- 
beams, the  happiest  little  creature  alive. 

"  Be  careful,"  cried  Paul,  looking  fondly  on  the  beau- 
tiful creature.  "  Don't  you  drop  it  on  her  head,  Jube  ; 
it  would  almost  kill  her." 

Jube  laughed,  and  dropped  the  apple,  which  fell  plump 
into  the  apron,  but  with  a  force  that  tore  it  from  the 
grasp  of  those  tiny  hands  ;  so,  after  all,  the  apple  rolled 
away  into  the  grass. 

Both  Paul  and  Rose  made  a  plunge.  The  boy  seized 
upon  the  apple  first,  and  held  it  over  his  head,  tempting 
Rose,  with  his  bright  eyes  laughing  pleasantly.  She 
leaped  after  it,  and  danced  up  and  down  like  a  fairy,  for 
her  little  feet  scarcely  trampled  the  grass. 

Paul  was  taller,  by  a  whole  foot,  than  the  little  girl,  so 
he  held  the  fruit  out  of  reach,  smiling  with  his  lips,  and 
laughing  with  his  eyes,  at  her  graceful  efforts.  Jube  got 
2G 


418  GATHERING     APPLES. 

astride  a  huge  limb  of  the  apple  tree,  and  looked  down 
upon  the  fun,  showing  his  teeth  through  the  leaves. 
The  minister  stood  at  his  study  window,  benignly  re- 
garding them,  drawn  from  his  manuscript  sermon  by 
their  riotous  shouts  of  laughter ;  while  his  wife,  who 
was  sewing  on  the  back  porch,  sat  with  her  needle  half 
suspended,  smiling  brightly  on  the  scene. 

It  was  a  pleasant  sight,  and  the  whole  family  enjoyed 
it  with  all  the  zest  of  innocent  hearts.  The  good 
housewife  loved  those  two  children  almost  as  if  they 
had  been  her  own,  and  as  for  Jube,  the  heart  must  have 
been  hard  indeed  which  did  not  turn  kindly  to  the  good 
negro,  who  brought  his  huge  bodily  strength  to  the  aid 
of  every  thing  that  required  it,  and  who  was  good- 
natured  as  a  Newfoundland  dog. 

The  housewife  was  so  occupied  with  the  pretty  strife 
under  the  apple  tree  that  she  did  not  hear  a  knock  at 
the  front  door,  and  was  quite  taken  by  surprise  when 
the  help  flung  open  that  leading  to  the  porch,  and  re- 
vealed two  strange  men  standing  in  the  hall  behind  her. 

When  the  door  was  opened,  shouts  of  laughter  swept 
through  it  from  the  orchard,  and  one  of  the  men,  with- 
out heeding  the  lady,  passed  by  her,  saying : 

"  Excuse  me !  It  is  my  child — my  little  daughter !" 
and  with  quick  strides  he  advanced  toward  the  apple 
tree,  leaving  his  companion  behind. 

"Don't  be  skeered  nor  nothing,  marm,"  said  Rice, 
looking  eagerly  toward  the  apple  tree.  "  It's  his  little 
darter,  and  he's  just  found  out  where  she  is,  arter  a 
tough  siege  among  the  niggers  in  St.  Domingo,  where 
we  thought  he  was  left  dead.  I  seed  him  fall  down  like 
an  ox  with  the  blow  of  an  axe,  among  a  hull  swarm  of 
'cm  in  the  cellar  of  one  of  them  St.  Domingo  houses, 


GATHERING     APPLES.  419 

and  arterward  I  saw  'em  carry  him  off  to  be  buried. 
They  took  him  up  into  the  mountains,  marm,  and  his 
goodness  saved  his  life  arter  all ;  for  one  of  the  niggers 
that  he'd  saved  from  a  flogging  once  knew  him,  and 
when  the  rest  wanted  to  kill  him  over  agin,  this  'ere 
chap  jest  begged  him  off  and  took  him  away  to  his  own 
hut  and  kinder  nussed  him  up,  you  see ;  but  it  was 
a  good  while  afore  he  got  well,  and  he  had  a  tough  time 
getting  away — had  to  take  a  vessel  going  'round  the 
Horn. 

The  minister  had  been  disturbed  by  the  knock  which 
his  wife  had  failed  to  hear,  and  now  stood  in  the  back 
door  listening  to  this  rapid  narrative  with  a  look  of 
wonder  in  his  face,  while  his  wife  sat  with  her  breath 
suspended,  and  the  color  dying  gradually  from  her 
cheek,  appalled  by  the  first  glimpse  of  a  crime  in  which 
she  felt  almost  like  a  participant. 

Meanwhile,  Captain  Mason  reached  the  apple  tree, 
and  paused  a  few  feet  from  Rose,  with  his  arms  ex- 
tended, striving  to  call  out,  "My  daughter,  my 
daughter,"  but  the  words  died  on  his  lips,  and  broke  up 
in  tears ;  thus  he  stood  before  the  child  trembling  like  a 
criminal,  and  with  his  noble  features  all  in  a  tumult  of 
tender  agitation. 

Rose  had  just  succeeded  in  coaxing  the  apple  from 
Paul,  and  tossing  it  into  the  air,  was  intent  on  catching 
it  with  her  hands,  but  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  stranger, 
and  the  sight  seemed  to  harden  her  into  stone.  The 
apple  fell  through  her  half-lifted  hands,  the  laughter 
froze  on  her  lips,  and  her  blue  eyes  opened  wide  and 
wild. 

"  Rose,  my  own  little  Rose,  have  you  forgotten  me  so 
soon  ?" 


420  GATHERING     APPLES. 

The  child  uttered  a  faint  wail ;  her  hands  fell  down  ; 
she  stood  before  him  like  a  flower  withering  at  the 
stalk. 

"Father!  oh,  father!" 

The  words  came  forth  in  a  cry  of  pain,  yet  joy  shone 
in  her  face. 

He  knelt  down  on  the  grass  and  folded  her  close  to 
his  heart,  raining  kisses  on  her  forehead,  her  hair,  and 
her  pretty  hands.  "  My  child,  my  child,"  he  murmured, 
with  eager  tenderness.  "  She  is  frightened.  She  be- 
lieved me  dead.  She  has  not  had  time  to  be  glad.  Oh, 
Rose,  it  is  your  father ;  kiss  me,  kiss  me,  little  Rose." 

The  child  trembled  in  his  arms,  but  reached  up  her 
lips  and  kissed  him  over  and  over  again. 

"  Now,"  said  Mason,  putting  her  away  from  his 
bosom,  and  examining  her  with  tears  of  proud  fondness 
in  his  eye,  "  now,  my  little  Rose,  go  with  me  to  your 
mother ;  is  she  in  the  house  ?" 

Again  that  shiver  came  over  the  child  ;  she  bent  her 
eyes  to  the  earth,  and  seemed  to  wither  under  his  look. 
"  Oh,  father,  father,  don't." 

What   is   the   matter,   Rose — why  are    you   afraid  ? 
Come,  come,  go  with  me  to  your  mother." 
"  Mother  isn't  here,"  faltered  the  child. 
A  look  of  keen  disappointment  swept  Mason's  face. 
"  Not  here !     Not  with  her  child  !     Then,  where  is  she  ?" 
"  I  don't  know,  father,  indeed  I  don't ;  she  would  marry 
Captain  Thrasher,  and  go  away.     I  begged  and  begged 
her  not  to ;  but  she  would  do  it." 

Rose  began  to  cry  bitterly,  in  the  midst  of  these 
words.  Captain  Mason  put  her  away  with  horror. 

"  Would  marry  Captain  Thrasher !  Captain  Thrasher !" 
lie  spoke  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  as  if  the  words  chilled 
him. 


GATHERING     APPLES.  421 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  help  it !"  pleaded  poor  Rose,  drop- 
ping on  her  knees,  and  holding  up  both  hands  like  an 
infant  Samuel. 

"  No,  sir ;  Rose  tells  the  truth.  She  tried  and  tried, 
but  madame  would  go,"  said  Paul,  dropping  on  one  knee 
by  Rose,  and  pleading  for  her  with  his  eyes.  "  That 
bad  man  came  after  madame,  and  put  my  mother's  jewels 
on  her  neck.  It  was  them  which  carried  her  away  from 
Rose." 

"Married  to  Captain  Thrasher  1"  The  words  came 
forth  hoarsely  from  his  white  lips.  "  My  wife  1" 

Rice  came  up  at  the  moment,  looking  fierce  and 
agitated. 

"  Come  away,  captin,  come  away ;  this  isn't  no  place 
for  us,"  he  said.  "  I  will  search  the  rascal  out,  though 
he  were  hid  away  in  the  icebergs  of  the  frozen  ocean. 
I'll  neither  eat  nor  sleep  till  he's  handcuffed  and  shackled 
down  in  jail." 

"  Is  this  thing  true,  Rice  ?"  inquired  Mason,  in  a 
deadly  whisper. 

"  True  as  the  gospel,  captin.  He  married  'em  both 
—your  wife  and  my  sister.  Oh  !" 

The  sailor  ground  his  teeth,  and  clenched  his  hand 
until  it  looked  like  a  mass  of  iron. 

"  Married  to  your  sister  ?" 

"  Yes,  captin ;  it  was  his  name  she  wouldn't  give  up. 
She  sot  there  on  the  gallows  with  that  marriage  writ- 
ing in  her  bosom,  and  let  the  women  sneer  at  her  with- 
out a  word,  all  to  save  that  villain  from  disgrace.  When 
she  fainted  away  in  my  arms  after  they  took  her  cloAvn, 
the  old  woman  found  this  a  lying  agin  her  heart.  I  took 
it  out,  and  swore  an  oath  to  search  the  sarpent  out ;  but 
his  father  told  me  that  he'd  gone  off  on  a  whaling  ship 


422  GATHERING     APPLES. 

afore  she  was  took  up,  and  didn't  know  nothing  about 
it,  so  I  waited.  But  I'm  on  his  track  now.  He's  on 
this  'ere  continent,  and  I'll  find  him,  or  die  on  the  hunt. 
Don't  look  so  skeered,  little  Paul ;  you  haint  got  nothing 
to  do  with  this ;  so  you  needn't  look  at  a  chap  in  that 
'ere  pitiful  way,  no  how.  I  aint  mad  with  you,  if  I  didn't 
shake  hands." 

"  But  Rose,  poor  Rose,"  pleaded  the  boy. 

Rice  looked  kindly  on  the  little  girl.  "  Poor  gal,  poor 
little  critter,"  he  muttered,  shaking  his  head  ;  but  what 
is  her  suffering  to  his'n,  I  should  like  to  know.  If  his 
heart  isn't  broke,  I  don't  know  the  signs.  Come,  cap- 
tin,  don't  look  so  down  in  the  mouth;  we've  both  got  a 
job  afore  us,  and  had  better  be  a  doing  uv  it." 

Mason  stood  with  his  back  to  the  group,  gazing  heav- 
ily on  the  earth. 

"  She  thought  I  was  dead ;  he  told  her  so ;  and,  per- 
haps, believed  it.  The  wretch  persecuted  her  before  she 
was  married.  She  was  alone  and  destitute — a  widow — 
very  proud,  and  so  helpless.  Poor  Ellen." 

"  Come,  captin,  my  heart  burns  like  a  live  coal.  I 
long  to  be  after  the  villain,"  said  Rice. 

"  Be  after  him — oh,  yes  ;  but  where  ?  He  is  your  sis- 
ter's husband — that  paper  proves  it.  Legally  married 
. — and  yet — and  yet " 

He  paused — cold  shudders  crept  through  his  frame — 
tears  of  agony  heaved  his  chest — then  the  might  of  his 
grief  broke  forth,  and  covering  his  face  with  both  hands, 
he  wept  like  a  little  child. 

"  Captin — Captin  Mason,  I  say,  look  up — don't, 
don't — I  can't  stand  it,"  cried  Rice.  "It's  bad  enough 
to  see  a  woman  cry ;  but  this  'ere  is  more  than  I  can 
bear,  darn  me  if  it  aint." 


MARRIED     AGAIN.  423 

CHAPTER   LXIV. 

MARRIED   AGAIN. 

CAPTAIN  MASON  removed  his  hands,  and  turned  his 
face,  white  and  tear-stained,  upon  his  friend. 

"Rice,  I  loved  that  woman." 

"  True  enough,  captin ;  but  don't  think  about  that ; 
there  are  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  were  taken  out. 
Jest  let  us  get  hold  of  that  scoundrel.  We've  got  him 
tight  now.  This  'ere  thing  of  marrying  two  wives  is 
biggermy,  and  all  the  lawyers  in  Connecticut  couldn't 
keep  a  man  from  State's  prison  if  that  'ere  crime  is 
brought  agin  him.  Come  on,  captin,  I'll  expose  him." 

"And  Ellen — the  mother  of  my  child !"  said  Mason, 
sadly. 

Rice  took  off  his  hat,  and  began  to  brush  it  with  the 
sleeve  of  his  coat. 

"  Yes,  captin,  I'm  afeard  we  couldn't  do  one  without 
the  other ;  but  the  woman  desarves  it." 

"Rice,  Rice,  her  child  is  looking  at  you." 

"And  my  sister  is  moaning  her  heart  out  in  Simsbury 
Mines — my  innocent  sister.  If  the  court  had  known 
that  she  was  a  married  woman  it  wouldn't  have  been  so 
hard  with  her.  It  was  to  get  rid  of  her  disgrace,  they 
said,  that  she  killed  her  child.  If  they  had  but  known 
that  there  wasn't  no  disgrace  she  wouldn't  have  been 
sent  to  that- prison.  Mebby,  if  I  was  to  show  this  cer- 
tificate to  the  governor  now,  he'd  let  her  out,  and  put 
Thrasher  in  her  place."  ;  « 

Mason  looked  at  him  with  heavy  eyes. 


424  MARKIED     AGAIN. 

"  His  guilt  would  do  nothing  to  prove  her  innocent ; 
and  she,  the  woman  who  was  my  wife,  had  no  share  in 
this  guilt ;  but  the  disgrace  will  fall  on  her.  She  be- 
lieved herself  a  widow." 

"And  was  in  a  mighty  hurry  to  get  clear  of  the 
name,"  muttered  Rice,  under  his  breath. 

Mason  did  not  hear  him,  but  had  relapsed  into  the 
pain  of  his  thoughts.  Meantime,  Jube  had  come  slowly 
down  from  the  apple  tree,  and  stood  before  them,  smiling 
and  softly  rubbing  his  hands.  This  cheerful  uncon- 
sciousness of  every  thing  but  joy,  at  seeing  his  best 
friends,  in  the  negro,  was  a  new  pang  to  Mason.  He 
spoke  kindly  to  the  poor  fellow,  and  that  was  all.  In  a 
moment  he  had  relapsed  into  gloom  again.  Paul  pulled 
Jube  by  his  garments,  and  drew  him  on  one  side.  When 
the  two  came  back  Jube's  face  was  sombre  like  the  rest. 
He  could  not  comprehend  the  entire  case,  but  knew 
that  some  wrong  had  been  done  to  his  benefactor,  and 
this  wounded  his  heart  to  the  core. 

Rice  came  closer  to  Mason,  and  drew  him  aside. 

"  Captin,  will  it  make  you  happier  if  I  let  this  villain 
go,  and  never  say  a  word  about  it  ?" 

Mason  started. 

"I  don't  know,  Rice.  I  am  so  bewildered  nothing 
seems  real;  not  even  my  child  there." 

"  I  can  search  him  out.  He's  in  this  country,  that  I 
feel  sure  about.  They  must  be  living  together  some- 
where, either  in  York  State  or " 

Mason  started  as  if  an  adder  had  stung  him. 

"Living  together!" 

There  was  fire  enough  in  his  heart  then.  It  flashed 
from  his  eyes,  and  made  every  nerve  in  his  body 
tremble. 


MAliKIED     AGAIN.  425 

"  Living  together!"  he  repeated,  with  sickening  pain. 
"  Tear  them  apart,  Rice.  She  has  no  moral  guilt  now, 
but  it  may  come  to  that.  Tear  him  from  her  side.  He 
is  your  sister's  husband — she  was  my  wife  !  Drag  them 
asunder!  I  could  not  see  her  living  with  that  man, 
without  tearing  him  all  to  pieces  !  No,  no  ;  if  the  choice 
is  guilt  or  disgrace,  let  the  shame  come.  I  can  bear  it. 
My  little  girl — God  help  us — she  can  bear  it." 

Rose  began  to  cry,  and  creeping  up  to  her-  father, 
nestled  her  little  hand  in  his. 

"  Don't,  father ;  she'll  come  back  again,  if  you  only 
ask  her !" 

Mason  grasped  the  little  hand  till  Rose  almost  cried 
out  with  the  pain,  but  she  was  a  brave  child,  and  gave 
no  sign  that  she  was  hurt. 

At  last  Mason  addressed  Rice  more  composedly,  but 
still  in  a  trembling  voice. 

"  Where  was  this  thing  done,  Rice  ?" 

"  In  that  house.  The  minister  himself  married  them. 
All  the  family  saw  it,  Jube  and  Paul  among  the  rest." 

"  Is  there  a  register  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  can  read  it." 

"  I  will." 

They  went  into  the  house  together,  slowly,  like  men 
walking  at  a  funeral,  Jube  and  the  children  followed 
with  downcast  looks,  wondering  what  terrible  thing  had 
happened,  when  Rose  ought  to  be  so  glad  now  that  her 
father  had  come  back. 

The  minister  and  his  little  wife  were  in  great  trouble 
when  their  guests  came  back  to  the  house,  she  had  evi- 
dently been  weeping,  and  really  felt  as  if  some  inevitable 
disgrace  had  fallen  upon  the  sacred  character  of  her  hus- 
band. He  was  terribly  bewildered,  and  with  the  frag- 


426  MARRIED     AGAIN". 

inents  of  a  half  finished  sermon  in  his  head,  found  great 
difficulty  in  comprehending  the  true  state  of  the  case. 
"When  it  really  got  fastened  on  his  intelligence,  the 
shock  was  powerful  in  its  effects ;  he  could  not  be  per- 
suaded that  some  stain  might  not  rest  upon  him,  and 
that  he  ought  not  on  the  very  next  Sunday  to  acknow- 
ledge himself  a  grave  sinner  before  the  entire  congre- 
gation. 

It  was  a  sad  visit,  both  to  the  father  and  child.  At  the 
moment  they  sprang  to  each  others'  embrace,  this  fearful 
intelligence  had  thrust  them  apart,  and  after  this,  all 
their  endearments  were  given  in  tears.  Rose  felt  as  if 
there  were  something  wrong  in  claiming  the  caresses  of 
her  own  father,  and  it  seemed  as  though  her  little  heart 
would  break  when  he  put  her  aside,  afraid  that  she 
would  be  terrified  by  the  groans  that  no  effort  of  his 
could  entirely  suppress. 

They  parted  in  sadness,  for  years,  if  not  for  ever. 
During  all  her  sweet  girlhood,  the  minister's  wife  was 
all  the  mother  Rose  must  henceforth  know  ;  as  for  the 
father,  how  bitterly  did  he  regret  the  kindness  which 
had  spared  his  life,  and  healed  his  wounds  among  the 
negroes  of  St.  Domingo.  What  was  he  now  but  a 
wronged,  desolate  man,  worse  than  widowed,  worse 
than  childless,  for  to  him  the  very  memory  of  affection 
had  become  a  pain. 

As  they  went'  from  the  house,  Rice  wrung  his  cap- 
tain's hand.  "You  will  let  me  punish  the  man  ?"  he 
said,  pleading  for  the  justice  that  was  his  by  right. 

"  Punish  him,  but  spare  her — spare  my  child.  Sepa- 
rate them  quietly ;  and  if  it  must  be — if  she  is  not  will- 
ing to  leave  him — tell  her  that  I  am  alive.  If  she  falls 
dead  at  your  feet,  tell  her  the  truth.  But  if  she  gives 
him  up,  leave  her  in  peace." 


THE     FANCY     BALL.  427 

CHAPTER  LXV. 

THE   FANCY   BALL. 

THE  result  of  Mrs.  Mason's  latest  reconciliation  with 
the  man  she  honestly  believed  to  be  her  husband,  was 
soon  made  visible  in  more  lavish  expenditure,  and  a  dis- 
play in  her  entertainments  never  attempted  before. 

An  exuberant  taste  kept  her  always  on  the  alert.  The 
constant  suggestion  of  some  extravagant  novelty  be- 
came an  habitual  stimulant,  now  that  home  affection  had 
become  a  hopeless  thing  with  her. 

During  the  season  of  moroseful  discontent  which  we 
have  described,  Nelson  had  checked  this  wanton^raving 
for  display  by  less  liberal  supplies  of  money ;  but  now 
that  he  was  grateful  and  generous  again,  the  fever  burst 
forth  in  new  vigor.  One  of  her  fashionable  friends  had 
just  given  a  fancy  ball,  where  the  flowers  alone  cost  a 
little  fortune.  Mrs.  Nelson  was  not  to  be  distanced 
thus  in  extravagance.  She  would  give  an  entertain- 
ment before  which  that  of  her  rival  should  wither  into 
insignificance,  like  the  roses  swept  from  her  banquet- 
ing hall  the  morning  after  that  great  triumph.  This  had 
been  a  leading  motive  for  the  interview  described  in 
another  chapter.  With  a  few  smiles  and  caressing  words 
she  had  won  a  new  hold  upon  the  purse,  which  opened 
grudgingly  only  when  she  grew  neglectful  or  insolent  by 
a  repletion  of  her  wishes. 

Mrs.  Nelson's  rival  had  given  a  fancy  ball  at  one  of 
the  principal  watering-places,  which  certainly  had  proved 
the  great  success  of  the  season.  She  would  do  some- 


428  THE     FANCY     BALL 

thing  better  than  that.  Her  ball  shcnild  rival  royalty. 
It  should  be  quoted  in  our  republican  society  as  the 
charming  entertainments  of  Maria  Antoinette,  in  her 
little  palace  in  the  Park  at  Versailles,  became  the  con- 
versation of  all  France. 

The  weather  was  lovely.  Summer  had  just  melted 
into  the  golden  autumn.  The  atmosphere  was  delicious 
with  fruity  odors,  in  which  the  breath  of  late  flowers 
mingled  in  sensuous  richness.  This  was  the  season  for 
her  grand  effort.  Society  had  just  come  back  from  the 
springs  and  the  fashionable  watering-places,  eager  for 
something  new.  Her  friends  should  be  gratified ;  nay, 
astonished.  She  would  throw  that  entire  mansion  open. 
Its  rich  draperies,  its  statues  and  bronzes,  the  frescoed 
ceilings,  and  rare  pictures.  All  should  flash  upon  the 
world  ^t  once.  She  would  illuminate  the  grounds,  weigh 
down  the  old  forest  trees  with  a  fruitage  of  lights,  build 
pavilions  and  rustic  bridges.  Nothing  should  be  omitted 
to  turn  her  residence  into  a  paradise. 

This  was  all  accomplished.  As  if  to  crown  her 
triumph,  a  moon,  just  swelling  from  its  crescent,  came 
out  among  the  bright  stars,  and  shone  with  peculiar 
radiance  that  evening.  Every  thing  smiled  upon  this 
woman.  Officious  menials  in  livery  crowded  her  halls 
— her  supper  room  was  one  bower  of  blossoms ;  deli- 
cious fruits  nestled  in  them,  and  mingled  still  more 
ruddy  tints  with  their  bloom  ;  cut-glass  shone  through 
their  leaves  like  gushes  of  water ;  silver  glittered 
through  them  like  frost  work ;  and  heavy  garlands 
clambered  up  the  pillars  that  supported  the  frescoed 
ceiling,  forming  light  colonnades  on  each  side,  where 
mirrors  reflected  every  thing,  as  lovely  landscapes  are 
seen  sleeping  in  a  lake — the  shadows  more  beautiful 
than  the  substance. 


THE     FANCY     BALL.  429 

Down  from  her  dressing-room,  rustling  in  white  silk, 
embroidered  with  silver  flowers,  that  shimmered  like 
moonlight  among  the  heavy  folds,  came  the  mistress  of 
this  festival,  superb  in  her  own  beauty,  with  jewels 
flashing  on  her  bare  neck  and  arms,  and  lighting  up  her 
heavy  tresses  like  clustering  stars. 

Nelson  met  her  on  the  broad  staircase.  He  was 
grave  and  sad.  These  ostentatious  entertainments 
were  against  his  taste,  and  always  displeased  him. 
This  evening  a  heavier  weight  than  usual  fell  upon 
his  spirits ;  even  the  rare  loveliness  of  his  wife  failed  to 
win  a  smile  to  his  lips. 

She  held  out  her  hand,  smiling  radiantly  upon  him. 
Her  triumph  was  certain.  Nothing  like  the  scene  that 
broke  upon  her  through  the  open  door  had  met  her  eye 
before.  She  could  afford  to  smile  on  the  man  whose 
gold  had  opened  this  paradise  to  her  ambition.  He 
made  no  response,  but  sighing  heavily,  turned  at  her 
request  and  walked  by  her  side  through  the  sumptuous 
rooms.  She  was  exultant ;  the  effect  surpassed  her 
expectations.  The  tread  of  her  silken^clad  feet  on  the 
marble  floor  and  moss-like  carpets  was  like  that  of  an 
empress,  but  it  annoyed  her  that  Nelson  took  no  part 
in  her  joy.  She  observed  that  he  turned  away  with  un- 
easiness whenever  she  lifted  her  arm  to  point  out  a 
beautiful  object  or  some  peculiar  effect.  She  did  not 
know  that  the  flash  of  those  jewels  which  clasped  her 
snow-white  arm  was  like  the  glitter  of  a  serpent  to  him. 
A  thousand  times  he  had  wished  those  diamonds  at  the 
bottom  of  the  ocean. 

Those  jewels  reminded  him  of  so  much  that  he  would 
have  given  worlds  to  forget.  They  brought  to  his  mind 
that  palace  home  at  Port  au  Prince,  where  he  had  stolen 


430  THE     FANCY     BALL. 

at  night  in  search  of  the  treasures  which,  in  the  end, 
tempted  that  woman  to  become  his  wife.  He  remem- 
bered the  horrid  scene  in  that  cellar.  He  remembered 
the  descent  of  Captain  Mason  upon  him  just  as  he  was 
breaking  open  the  vault  where  the  wealth  of  many  a 
rich  man  lay  buried — the  honest  indignation  of  that 
noble  face — the  cold  protest.  Then  the  crowd  of  negro 
fiends  that  rushed  upon  them,  reeling  with  drunkenness, 
gnashing  their  white  teeth,  and  emitting  gleams  of  hatred 
from  their  bloodshot  eyes.  He  remembered  how  the 
crowbar  had  fallen  from  his  hands,  and  felt  anew  the 
thrill  with  which  he  had  pointed  out  Captain  Mason  to 
the  vengeance  of  these  demons. 

No  wonder  he  shuddered  and  turned  away  sick  with 
loathing  of  the  jewels.  By  eternal  tortures,  such  as 
pressed  upon  him  now,  he  had  bought  them,  and, 
through  them,  the  woman  whose  cold  beauty  they 
adorned. 

They  were  the  embodiment  of  his  crimes.  Why 
would  she  wear  them  ?  Could  she  not  guess  that  every 
rainbow  flash  that  came  from  her  person  filled  his  brain 
with  pictures  of  blood  ?  "Would  she  never  permit  him 
to  forget  the  riot  of  that  awful  night,  when  the  brave 
man,  whose  wife  she  had  been,  was  dragged  lifeless 
along  the  muddy  floor  of  the  cellar,  and  carried  off  to 
be  flung  in  the  heaps  of  slain  humanity  which  blocked 
up  the  streets  of  Port  au  Prince  after  the  carnage 
which  makes  men  shudder  3'et,  even  in  remembrance  ? 

She  wanted  him  to  be  happy,  and  yet  persisted  in 
wearing  those  things.  True,  he  had  never  dared  to 
object,  they  were  hers.  He  had  bought  her  with  them ; 
what  excuse  could  he  make  for  the  loathing  with  which 
he  regarded  their  display  ? 


STRANGE     GUESTS.  431 

She  saw  the  pallor  of  his  countenance  and  laughed. 

"  How  strange,"  she  said,  surveying  herself  in  a  mir- 
ror, and  changing  one  of  the  ornaments  in  her  hair, 
"how  strange,  Nelson,  that  you  never  can  accustom 
yourself  to  society.  The  very  expectation  of  doing  the 
honors  of  your  own  house  to  a  fashionable  crowd  makes 
a  coward  of  you ;  while  I — well,  it  is  true  we  ladies  do 
adapt  ourselves  to  circumstances  better  than  men. 
Confess  this,  husband,  and  I  will  permit  you  to  tie  the 
laces  of  this  slipper;  see,  they  have  broken  loose." 

Nelson,  still  grave  and  sad,  dropped  on  one  knee, 
and  tied  the  laces  around  that  exquisitely  turned 
ankle.  She  laughed  at  his  awkwardness,  and  spurned 
him  playfully  with  her  foot  when  the  task  was  done. 

"  Come,  now,  I  hear  a  carriage.  It  is  early,  but  our 
guests  are  impatient,  I  suppose.  No  wonder ;  it  is  not 
often  they  will  see  any  thing  like  this.  Come,  you  must 
help  me  receive,  or  people  will  think  I  am  ashamed  of 
my  husband." 


CHAPTER  LXVL 

STRANGE    GUESTS. 

SHE  was  very  playful  and  charming  that  night.  He 
looked  into  her  eyes  as  they  flashed  down  upon  him,  and 
forgot  the  jewels.  They  walked  together  into  the  vast 
drawing-rooms,  and  waited  for  the  guests,  whose  foot- 
steps could  be  heard  plainly  on  the  marble  floor  of  the 
entrance  hall.  The  steps  were  heavy,  and  seemed  out 


432  STRANGE     QUESTS. 

of  place  in  that  dwelling.  The  master  of  all  that  splen- 
dor was  strangely  impressed  by  the  sound  of  those 
footsteps.  His  breath  came  slowly  and  his  restless 
eyes  sought  the  door  with  a  species  of  vague  dread  in 
their  glance. 

His  wife  stood  careless  and  smiling,  always  graceful 
and  ready  to  enjoy  the  surprise  of  her  first  guests. 
They  came  forward  slowly,  the  heavy  footsteps  smoth- 
ered in  the  carpets,  and  looking  around  in  vague  won- 
der, as  if  frightened  at  finding  themselves  in  the  midst 
of  such  splendor. 

"Who  can  they  be,  dressed  in  that  fashion?"  mut- 
tered the  lady.  "  I  do  not  know  them  !" 

Nelson  watched  the  two  men  anxiously  as  they  ap- 
proached. They  were  strangers,  and  certainly  could  not 
be  invited  guests.  The  men  saw  him,  and  advanced  up 
the  room. 

"Is  your  name  Nelson?"  inquired  the  foremost, 
speaking  almost  in  a  whisper,  for  he  was  awed  by  the 
splendor  around  him. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Nelson ;  "  that  is  my  name." 

"  Nelson  Thrasher  ?" 

The  woman  by  his  side  gave  a  little  scream  as  the 
words  fell  on  her  ear,  but  controlled  herself  instantly, 
though  the  smile  left  her  lips,  and  the  gorgeous  fan 
trembled  in  her  grasp. 

"  Yes,"  said  a  third  person,  coming  up  the  room  with 
a  heavy,  rolling  gate,  such  as  seafaring  men  attain  in 
long  vo}'ages.  "  It  is  Nelson  Thrasher.  Arrest  him 
here  and  now." 

Every  vestige  of  color  left  Thrasher's  face — he  stood 
trembling  before  the  two  men  like  a  coward.  But  the 
woman  by  his  side  drew  her  magnificent  figure  to  its 
proudest  height,  and  turned  scornfully  upon  them. 


STRANGE     GUESTS.  433 

"  You  are  mistaken  ;  his  name  is  not  Thrasher.  This 
gentleman  is  my  husband!" 

The  seafaring  man  looked  at  her  steadily ;  there  was 
nothing  in  her  words  or  appearance  to  excite  compas- 
sion, so  he  spoke  out  bluntly. 

"  ISTo,  marin,  you  are  mistaken.  His  name  is  Thrasher, 
and  he  is  not  your  husband,  having  been  married  to 
another  woman  long  before  you  left  the  pine  woods." 

The  color  fled  from  her  proud  face,  till  the  jewels, 
flashing  their  light  across  it,  gave  her  features  the  ap- 
pearance of  marble.  She  turned  upon  Thrasher  with 
deadly  hate  in  her  eyes. 

"  Is  this  thing  true  ?"  The  words  hissed  through  her 
white  lips. 

He  did  not  answer,  but  stood  before  her  dumb  and 
sullen. 

"Is  this  thing  true?"  she  repeated,  turning  to  the 
sailor. 

"True  as  judgment,  marm." 

"And  the  woman,  her  name,  I  say !" 

"  His  wife  is  my  own  sister,  Katharine  Allen." 

"  His  wife  1"  she  cried,  fiercely  turning  upon  Thrasher 
again.  "  Man,  have  you  nothing  to  say  ?" 

Thrasher  lifted  his  eyes,  heavy  and  sad  as  death.  "  I 
loved  you,  Ellen." 

"  Loved  me  1" 

The  bitter  scorn  in  her  voice  made  him  shrink  like  a 
hound  when  it  feels  the  lash. 

"  It  is  the  truth.  God  only  knows  how  I  loved  you, 
how  I  do  love  you." 

Her  face  fairly  contracted  with  the  loathing  that  had 
slept  in  her  bosom  so  long. 
2? 


434  STRANGE     GUESTS. 

"And  God  only  knows  how  I  hate  yon — how  I  hated 
you  then,  and  shall  forever  and  ever." 

"  But  you  married  me." 

"  No,  I  married  these,  and  these,  and  these  '!" 

She  dashed  one  hand  against  the  jewels  on  her  bosom, 
hair,  and  arms,  then  pointed  to  the  supper  room,  with 
its  flowers,  and  the  long  vista  of  saloons  opening  into 
each  other. 

Thrasher  shrunk  into  himself,  standing  before  her 
white  and  cold.  She  had  no  mercy  on  his  wretchedness  ; 
no  control  over  her  own  rage. 

"  Take  him  away,"  she  said,  addressing  the  men. 
"  If  you  have  a  warrant,  use  it  quickly.  Drag  him  from 
my  sight,  anywhere,  so  that  he  is  taken  far  enough,  and 
buried  deep  enough." 

"Ellen!  Ellen!" 

The  cry  of  his  anguish  would  have  touched  a  stone 
with  mercy,  but  she  only  drew  a  sob,  and  went  on,  bitter 
as  death,  and  sharp  as  steel.  He  knew  that  venomous 
truth  was  spe%king  up  through  her  rage,  and  while  she 
was  treading  him  to  the  earth,  the  viper  in  his  nature 
crested  itself  against  her. 

You  married  me  for  these,"  he  said,  pointing  to  her 
bosom,  which  heaved  with  rage  under  its  flaming  orna- 
ments. "  I  maybe  guilty,  but  not  more  guilty  than  you 
are,  Ellen." 

"  Take  him  away — take  him  away,"  she  cried,  "  or  I 
shall  die." 

"  One  moment,"  exclaimed  Thrasher,  desperately ; 
"  Ellen  speak  to  me  alone.  It  may  be  my  last  request." 

Had  she  been  alone,  I  think  the  woman  would  have 
refused  him — but  with  all  those  eyes  turned  upon  her, 
she  could  only  step  aside  to  one  of  those  little  boudoirs 
that  his  wealth  had  fitted  up  for  her. 


STKANGE     GUESTS.  435 

"  "Well  ?"  she  said,  haughtily  turning  upon  him  as  he 
stood  before  her,  pale  and  shrinking. 

"  Ellen — Ellen,  do  not  be  so  cruel  to  me ;  if  I  have 
sinned,  it  was  from  the  love  that  made  me  desperate. 
If  I  have  wronged  you,  think  what  I  gave  up  for  your 
sake — how  much  I  risked — how  much  I  have  endured." 

"  "Well  ?"  she  repeated,  growing  hard  and  stern  with 
each  word,  "  what  more  ?" 

"  Oh,  Ellen,"  he  pleaded,  "  unsay  those  cutting  words, 
they  pierce  me  to  the  heart — never  loved  me — hate — oh, 
do  not  strike  me  so  hard  !" 

"Hate!"  sneered  the  woman.  "No,  no,  that  is  not 
the  word,  it  does  not  express  enough  ;  I  want  a  stronger 
language,  something  that  will  combine  loathing,  detes- 
tation, and  scorn,  all  in  one  word,  that  I  may  fling  it  at 
you,  and  go !" 

"  Ellen,  Ellen !" 

She  took  no  heed  of  this  agonized  cry,  but  went  on, 
her  cheeks  blanched,  and  her  eyes  aflame  with  passion. 
"  The  only  drop  of  comfort  I  have,"  she  raved,  "  is,  that 
I  can  for  once  speak  out,  and  throw  off  the  load  of  hate 
that  has  fevered  every  drop  of  blood  in  my  veins  since 
the  day  I  married  you." 

He  did  not  attempt  to  answer  her  now.  The  scathing 
words  she  had  uttered  seemed  to  freeze  the  life  from 
his  whole  system.  He  stood  looking  upon  her  with 
wild,  dreary  eyes,  his  whole  face  so  coldly  white  that  she 
paused,  drawing  a  sharp  breath,  even  in  the  headlong 
passion  that  possessed  her. 

At  last  he  spoke,  but  the  hollow  sound  of  his  voice 
made  her  shiver. 

"  You  hate  me — and  I,  who  loved  you  better  than 
truth,  better  than  honor,  better  than  my  own  soul — hate 
you,  Ellen  Mason !" 


436  STRANGE     GUESTS. 

She  was  petrified.  The  fearful  violence  of  her  passion 
had  borne  her  too  far — fallen  as  he  was,  the  man  pos- 
sessed power.  There  was  his  secret ;  with  all  her 
patient  craft  she  had  failed  to  win  that,  and  now  it 
would  be  buried  with  him  in  the  prison  to  which  he 
must  inevitably  go.  She  looked  keenly  in  his  face ;  it 
was  hard  as  granite,  and  his  eyes  seemed  scarcely  human 
from  the  fire  that  smouldered  in  them,  giving  dusky 
force  to  the  circles  underneath.  She  knew  that  at  last 
her  power  had  been  wholly  swept  away.  She  saw  this 
with  a  pang.  The  whole  scene  had  come  upon  her  so 
suddenty,  that  she  could  not  yet  realize  her  true  position 
— that  he  was  not,  and  never  had  been  her  husband ;  that 
before  the  world  she  was  a  disgraced  woman.  She  remem- 
bered, with  a  thrill  of  terror,  how  the  measures  taken  only 
to  protect  her  pride,  and  save  her  from  the  intrusions 
of  Thrasher's  family,  would  now  tell  against  her.  The 
name  partially  suppressed,  the  false  history  of  her  posi- 
tion, all  would  go  to  prove  complicity  with  the  criminal 
whom  she  had  just  exasperated  into  a  bitter  enemy. 

Stung  with  this  conviction,  she  stood  before  Thrasher 
in  the  full  humiliation  of  a  haughty  spirit  overthrown. 

A  stern  sneer  crept  to  his  lips  as  he  looked  upon  her. 
He  turned  and  moved  toward  the  door. 

"Where  are  you  going  ?"  she  questioned,  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

"  I  am  going  to  proclaim  myself  a  criminal,  and  you 
Captain  Mason's  widow !"  he  said. 

"  To  whom  ?" 

"  To  your  guests  as  they  come  in !" 

"  You  will  not  be  so  cruel !" 

He  laughed  like  a  fiend. 

"  Cruel !" 


STRANGE     GUESTS.  437 

"  So  base,  then  1" 

"  Base  !  I  bought  you  with  money ;  sold  myself  for 
love — both  were  cheated  1" 

He  passed  out  of  the  room,  smiling  upon  her  as  he 
went.  She  was  a  sharp-willed  woman,  crafty  and 
prompt.  The  danger  was  imminent,  but  she  had  the 
intellect  to  meet  it.  Quick  as  lightning  her  plan  was 
matured.  She  followed  him  out,  and  touching  one  of 
the  officers  on  the  arm,  Avhispered  : 

"  A  hundred  dollars  in  gold  if  you  get  that  man  clear 
of  the  house  in  ten  minutes." 

"  Can't  be  done,  marm.  Mr.  Rice  has  gone  for  more 
help.  No  moving  a  peg  till  he  comes  back." 

"  But  you  can  lock  him  up  ;  put  a  guard  over  him  ; 
do  something  to  save  us  from  this  disgrace !  If  one 
hundred  is  not  enough  you  shall  have  five !" 

"  But  where  shall  we  put  him — every  room  in  the 
house  seems  turned  into  a  garden  ?" 

"  In  the  south  wing,  along  that  hall,  you  will  find  a 
room.  It  has  but  one  door.  Iron  shutters  are  concealed 
under  the  ornamental  work.  Secure  them,  and  it  is 
impossible  for  him  to  escape.  Hark !  that  is  a  carriage ! 
A  thousand  dollars  if  you  get  him  off  before  it  reaches 
the  entrance !" 

She  was  pale  as  death,  and  her  whispers  sounded  like 
the  hiss  of  a  reptile. 

The  two  men  consulted  together  a  moment,  and 
directly  one  of  them  touched  Thrasher  on  the  arm. 

"  Come,  go  with  us  into  another  room." 

"What  room?" 

"  That  in  the  south  wing,  with  iron  shutters  and  only 
one  door.  It  will  do." 

"No,"  he  said,  doggedly;  "my  house  isn't  a  prison. 


438  STRANGE     GUESTS. 

You  have  a  warrant,  execute  it.  I  will  pass  those  people 
as  they  come  in." 

The  men  began  to  expostulate.  Ellen  Mason  trem- 
bled with  terror,  for  the  carriage  was  already  setting 
down  its  burden  at  her  door. 

One  of  the  men  came  to  her  for  counsel. 

"  Shall  we  take  him  away  by  force,  marm  " 

"Yes,  if  it  must  be — quick." 

To  her  surprise,  Thrasher  came  forward.  The  ex- 
pression of  his  face  had  changed — there  was  a  gleam  of 
malicious  triumph  in  it. 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  "  I  consent  to  remain  your  guest 
a  little  longer."  Then,  turning  to  the  men,  he  said: 
"  How  many  hours  shall  I  be  detained  in  this  room  with 
one  door  and  iron  shutters  ?" 

"All  night,"  replied  the  man. 

"All  night  ?"  There  was  something  more  than  a  ques- 
tion in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  we  shan't  run  the  risk  of  taking  you  out 
in  a  crowd — depend  on  it.  Too  smart  a  chap  for  any 
risks  of  that  sort." 

"  No  chance  of  getting  off  before  morning  ?"  he  ques- 
tioned again,  very  earnestly. 

"  Not  the  ghost  of  one — even  if  Rice  himself  comes 
back.  We  have  all  the  responsibility." 

"Well,  I  am  ready.     Farewell,  madame." 

Ellen  Mason  followed  him,  with  affrighted  looks. 
Her  guests  were  coming  up  the  entrance  hall  in  groups. 
Thrasher  stood  immovable,  smiling  maliciously  upon 
her.  This  exasperated  the  two  officers,  and  they  seized 
him  each  by  an  arm.  He  shook  them  off  at  once,  and 
moved  close  to  the  lady. 

"  Ellen  Mason,  if  I  leave  you  one  more  night  of  tri- 


TOGETHER,     YET     SEPARATED.          439 

umpli,  it  is  because  the  blow  that  I  strike  shall  be  for 
life,  not  for  an  hour." 

She  drew  back,  and  stood,  with  a  forced  smile  in  her 
eyes,  looking  toward  the  advancing  guests.  He,  too, 
smiled,  and  walked  on,  bowing  low  as  he  passed  the 
groups  of  revellers  that  now  half  filled  the  entrance  hall. 
The  two  officers  rushed  eagerly  after  him,  and  seized 
him  by  the  arms  in  the  midst  of  his  guests.  Again  he 
shook  them  off,  and,  turning  toward  the  south  wing,  dis- 
appeared. 

With  a  wild  glitter  in  her  eyes,  the  mistress  of  the 
mansion  watched  him  till  he  was  lost  in  the  incoming 
crowd.  Then  drawing  a  heavy  breath,  she  turned  to 
receive  the  brilliant  throng  that  surged  into  her  rooms. 


CHAPTER    LXVII. 

TOGETHER,  YET  SEPARATED. 

DIRECTLY,  that  magnificent  suite  of  rooms  was  full. 
The  house  had  given  up  its  gay  company  group  by 
group,  when  the  vast  apartments  overflowed,  and  the 
illuminated  grounds  grew  brilliant  as  fairy  land.  It 
was  remarked  that  Mrs.  Nelson  had  never  received  with 
such  queenly  grace  before.  That  superb  toilet  surpassed 
her  usual  suniptuousness  ;  the  glow  of  her  jewels  scarcely 
matched  the  wild  light  that  came  and  went  in  her  eyes. 
Her  spirits  were  unusually  brilliant  throughout  the 
whole  entertainment ;  the  scarlet  of  excitement  burned 


440    TOGETHER,  YET  SEPARATED. 

on  her  cheeks ;  she  seemed  lifted  out  of  herself  by  the 
success  of  this  unique  fete. 

This  was  the  general  opinion  of  her  guests.  They 
could  account  for  the  brilliant  beauty  of  her  presence  in 
no  other  way. 

How  could  strangers  guess  at  the  quivering  fear  that 
trembled  at  her  heart  when  any  unusual  noise  arose  in 
the  crowd  which  surrounded  her  with  flattery  and  soft 
adulation  ?  How  was  it  possible  for  them  to  know  that 
the  brilliant  beauty  of  her  face  was  lighted  by  the  fever 
of  anxiety  so  terrible  that  her  heart  quailed  under  it. 

A  few  of  the  guests  remarked  upon  the  absence  of 
Mr.  Xelson.  At  first  she  evaded  these  inquiries,  but,  as 
the  evening  drew  near  its  close,  she  whispered  to  one  of 
her  most  intimate  friends  a  secret  that  soon  spread 
through  the  vast  crowd : 

Mr.  kelson  was  insane.  The  men  that  had  been  re- 
marked with  him  in  the  hall  were  his  keepers.  The 
malady  had  been  growing  upon  him  for  months,  and 
could  be  kept  secret  no  longer.  She  had  done  her  best 
to  conceal  it,  but  of  late  his  eccentricities  had  become 
so  uncontrollable  that  a  private  asylum  had  been  decided 
on.  This  it  was  which  had  made  her  so  restless  aud 
excited  all  the  evening.  People  thought  it  high  spirits, 
but  alas  !  how  little  the  world  knows  of  human  suffering. 

It  had  been  against  her  will  that  the  party  had  gone 
on.  Indeed,  her  husband's  malady  had  never  become 
really  violent  until  after  the  invitations  were  given  out, 
but  he  was  quite  unfit  to  appear.  It  was  a  great  afflic- 
tion, but  Mrs.  Nelson  was  afraid  of  her  life,  and  had 
with  painful  reluctance  compelled  herself  to  consign  her 
dear  husband  entirely  into  medical  hands.  Early  in  the 
uiormnar  he  would  leave  home. 


TOGETHER,  YET  SEPARATED.    441 

These  were  the  remarks  which  floated  from  lip  to  lip 
when  the  guests  broke  into  groups  after  supper,  and  the 
dear  friends  who  had  met  the  lady  of  the  mansion  with 
congratulations,  left  with  compassionate  words  of  con- 
solation, which  she  received  with  gentle  grace,  more 
attractive  than  her  previous  high  spirits  had  been. 

Ellen  Mason  was  a  magnificent  actress — few  women 
on  the  stage  ever  went  through  a  difficult  role  so 
triumphantly.  But  when  her  guests  were  all  gone,  the 
facts  of  her  position  came  upon  her  mind  with  bitter 
force.  She  looked  around  on  the  luxurious  ruin  of  the 
supper  table,  the  withered  garlands,  the  groups  of  glasses 
stained  with  amber,  or  ruddy  wine,  the  broken  pyramids, 
and  silver  baskets^  heaped  with  dying  flowers  and  re- 
jected fruit,  with  a  feeling  of  absolute  disgust.  The 
glittering  confusion  made  her  faint.  She  longed  to  rush 
by  the  servants,  who  were  closing  the  house,  and  seek 
the  open  air,  late  as  it  was.  This  impulse  seized  upon 
her  with  such  force  that  she  gathered  up  the  scarf  of 
Brussels  point,  which  had  fallen  like  frost-work  over 
her  dress,  and  vailing  her  head  with  it,  stepped  through 
an  open  window  into  the  grounds. 

The  moon  was  down,  but  hundreds  of  colored  lamps 
still  burned  in  the  trees,  looking  only  the  more  brilliant 
from  the  deep  shadows  that  lay  in  the  leaves.  The  cool 
night  air  chilled  the  fever  in  her  veins  and  gave  her 
more  vivid  power  of  reflection.  There  is  no  time  when 
the  emptiness  of  fashionable  life  strikes  the  mind  so 
forcibly  as  that  which  follows  a  successful  entertain- 
ment. The  ruins  of  a  feast  are  always  oppressive. 

The  hollowness  of  her  whole  life  struck  Ellen  Mason 
full  upon  the  heart.  What  was  she  after  all  but  a  gross 
impostor  forced  to  work  out  the  problem  of  her  own 


442          TOGETHER,     YET     SEPARATED. 

falsehood  without  help  ?  She  began  to  realize  the  i. 
sufficiency  of  all  that  had  been  gained  to  her  life.  She 
thought  of  the  honest  love  that  had  made  her  humble 
home  in  the  pine  wood  so  pleasant.  In  that  home  how 
often  had  she  thought  of  scenes  like  the  one  before  her, 
and  longed  to  act  a  part  in  them.  But  these  had  been 
only  dreams.  They  had  never  deepened  to  ambitious 
hopes  till  Thrasher  came  with  his  brilliant  temptations 
and  won  her  from  that  honest  roof.  What  a  worthless 
life  hers  had  proved  since  then  !  would  it  always  be  so  ? 
had  she  tied  herself  forever  and  ever  to  all  this  empti- 
ness ?  Would  she  indeed  be  permitted  to  revel  still 
among  these  golden  husks  ?  That  man  had  threatened 
her  with  his  speech  and  more  fiercely  still  with  his  eyes. 
Oh,  how  she  dreaded  him. 

Lost  in  these  thoughts  she  sat  down  on  a  garden 
chair,  and  clasping  both  hands  in  her  lap,  began  to  cry. 
This  was  an  unusual  weakness.  She  had  wept  when  the 
news  of  her  husband's  death  came,  but  seldom  since 
then.  Vanity  thrives  best  in  the  sunshine,  tears  are 
unnecessary  to  its  growth.  And  now  Ellen  Mason's  life 
was  allTanity. 

But  Ellen  wept  now.  The  excitement  of  the  evening 
had  left  her  in  a  state  of  utter  exhaustion.  She  gathered 
the  lace  scarf  over  her  eyes,  and  it  fell  away  damp,  like 
a  cobweb  heavy  with  dew. 

A  slight  noise  upon  the  turf  made  her  look  up  with 
some  impatience.  What  servant  had  dared  to  follow 
and  disturb  her  ? 

It  was  no  servant,  but  a  tall  man,  with  the  light  from 
a  cluster  of  lamps  lying  full  upon  his  face.  She  arose, 
stood  upright-  a  moment,  and  fell  back  again,  her  lips 
apart,  her  e}res  closed  tight,  as  if  to  shut  out  some  terri- 


TOGETHER,  YET  SEPARATED.    443 

ble  object.  Her  lips  trembled  as  if  words  were  strug- 
gling through  them,  but  they  gave  forth  no  sound,  and 
she  fell  away  with  her  head  resting  against  the  hard 
iron  fruit  and  clustering  leaves  of  the  garden  chair. 

The  man  drew  close  to  her  side,  when  he  found  that 
she  was  insensible,  and  bent  over  her  with  a  counte- 
nance full  of  unutterable  grief.  There  she  lay  beneath 
his  eyes  like  a  broken  statue.  The  mother  of  his  child 
— the  wife  of  his  youth,  with  the  burning  shame  of  a 
second  and  illegal  marriage  flashing  from  the  jewels  on 
her  bosom  and  in  her  hair.  But  she  was  the  mother  of 
his  child,  the  object  of  his  first  and  only  love,  and  that 
pale,  cold  face  was  wet  with  tears.  His  own  hands  had 
aided  in  separatinf  her  from  that  man.  It  was  a  solemn 
duty,  but  he  had  no  wish  of  revenge  beyond  that.  This 
task  accomplished  he  would  go  away  and  struggle 
against  his  bereavement  as  a  strong  man  should.  He 
had  not  expected,  nor  perhaps  wished  to  see  that 
woman's  face  again,  but  as  it  lay  beneath  his  gaze  so 
like  death,  something  of  the  solemn  tenderness  which 
death  claims  came  over  him.  It  was  not  love.  It  was 
not  forgiveness — he  had  never  condemned  her  enough 
for  that — but  the  wronged  man  could  not  forget  that 
she  had  been  his  wife,  and  that  great  sorrow  and  bitter 
shame  had  fallen  upon  her  that  night.  He  knelt  upon 
the  grass,  and  lifting  her  head  from  its  iron  resting- 
place,  drew  it  to  his  bosom.  The  heart  beneath  scarcely 
quickened  a  pulse.  To  him  she  was  not  a  living  woman, 
luit  a  memory  that  had  turned  to  marble  under  his  eyes 
and  lay  like  marble  against  his  heart. 

It  was  terrible  to  see  a  human  being  so  perfectly  life- 
less and  yet  feel  that  vitality  existed  in  the  pulseless 


444    TOGETHER,  YET  SEPARATED. 

heart.  He  did  not  touch  that  forehead  with  his  lips, 
but  passed  one  hand  tenderly  over  it,  muttering: 

"  Poor  Ellen— poor  lost  Ellen." 

She  did  not  move  ;  his  words  failed  to  reach  her.  He 
felt  how  cold  she  was  growing,  and  lifting  her  in  his 
arms  carried  her  into  the  house  ;  for  the  window  through 
which  she  had  passed  was  still  open,  the  light  of  a  chan- 
delier poured  through  it,  and  was  exhausted  in  the 
flower  beds  underneath. 

In  passing  through  the  shrubbery  the  lace  scarf 
caught  on  a  rose-bush  and  was  torn  in  fragments.  He 
remembered  how  the  drapery  which  had  shrouded 
Paul's  mother  had  been  swept  from  the  dead,  and 
sighed  heavily,  as  if  composing  thft  one  also  for  the 
grave.  _  • 

Mason  passed  through  the  window  and  stood  in  the 
little  breakfast  room,  which  has  already  been  described. 
Through  the  open  doors  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  sup- 
per room,  from  which  the  scent  of  luscious  fruits  and 
dying  flowers  came  with  sickening  force.  On  the  other 
hand  was  a  long  vista  of  drawing-rooms,  with  the 
lights  half  extinguished,  and  a  host  of  glittering  objects 
visible  through  the  semi-darkness,  as  lightning  breaks 
through  a  cloud  surcharged  with  electricity. 

A  sadness  like  that  of  death  fell  upon  Mason  as  he 
saw  these  things.  They  told,  in  one  glance,  the  history 
of  her  involuntary  sin.  Why  should  he  wait  there  to 
cover  her  with  new  anguish  and  more  living  shame  when 
life  came  back  ?  He  laid  her  down  among  the  silken 
cushions  of  a  couch  Avhose  crimson  warmth  only  made 
her  face  more  deathly,  and  went  away  forever.  What 
more  was  there  for  him  to  do  ?  Already  he  had  per- 
suaded Rice  to  spare  that  proud  woman  the  last  humili- 


THE     TREASURE     VAULT.  445 

ation  of  her  rashness,  and  keep  her  name,,  as  it  was  now 
recognized,  out  of  all  legal  proceedings  necessary  to 
the  conviction  of  Nelson  Thrasher.  Beyond  this,  mag- 
nanimity itself  was  powerless. 


CHAPTER    LXVIII. 

THE   TREASURE    VAULT. 

MEANTIME  Thrasher  entered  the  room  which  had 
always  been  considered  as  particularly  his  own.  The 
officers,  went  after  him,  found  out  the  iron  shutters,  and 
fastened  them  securely.  Then  looking  complacently 
around  this  impromptu  prison,  they  went  into  the  hall, 
locking  the  door  securely  outside. 

Thrasher  sat  down  in  his  easy  chair,  and  leaning  one 
hand  on  the  table,  waited  patiently  till  they  were  gone. 
When  all  was  quiet,  he  got  up,  crossed  the  room  softly, 
and  drew  a  couple  of  bolts,  hidden  in  the  elaborate 
carving  of  the  door  frame.  He  fastened  the  shutters 
in  the  same  way,  so  that  it  was  impossible  for  any  one 
to  gain  entrance  to  the  apartment  against  his  desire. 

When  every  thing  was  safe,  he  pushed  the  library 
table  aside,  and  kneeling  upon  the  mosaic  floor,  wheeled 
the  centre  ornament  from  its  place.  He  descended  to 
a  flight  of  steps  that  led  from  the  opening,  and  with  a 
touch  of  the  finger  wheeled  the  pavement  into  place 
again,  closing  himself  into  a  deep  vault,  apparently  of 
solid  mason  work.  Casks,  evidently  filled  with  choice 
wines,  for  the  name  of  some  rare  vintage  was  marked  on 


446  THE     TREASURE     VAULT. 

each,  were  piled  on  one  side  of  the  vault ;  a  rack  filled 
•with  bottles  rose  to  the  ceiliug  opposite.  It  was,  after 
all,  only  a  wine  vault  that  he  hud  taken  so  much  pains 
to  conceal.  This  would  have  been  the  first  conclusion 
had  any  one  followed  Thrasher  into  that  recess.  But 
his  actions  spoke  of  something  more. 

Previous  to  entering  the  vault,  he  had  lighted  a  lamp, 
which  he  now  placed  on  the  pavement.  With  a  quick 
wrench  of  the  hand,  he  swung  the  wine  rack  from  its 
place,  and  busied  himself  with  one  of  the  slabs  of  granite 
which  composed  the  wall.  That  too  swung  open,  and 
exposed  an  inner  compartment,  or  square  chamber,  from 
which  came  a  flash  of  precious  metals,  and  iron-clamped 
boxes,  piled  in  heaps  within.  A  broad  glow,  given 
back  to  the  light,  streamed  into  the  outer  vault,  filling 
it  with  golden  gleams. 

Thrasher  stepped  into  the  recess,  and  dragged  out  a 
bronze  box,  scarcely  larger  than  that  which  held  the 
jewels  entrusted  to  Captain  Mason,  and  which  now 
blazed  on  the  person  of  his  wife.  He  opened  this  box 
carefully,  and  took  out  a  heavy  block  of  gold,  evidently 
pure  metal,  but  polished  smooth^.  It  was  shaped  like 
a  common  house  brick,  and  weighed  so  heavily  that  the 
strong  hand  of  Thrasher  sunk  under  it,  and  it  fell  to 
the  stone  floor,  giving  out  a  ringing  sound  that  made 
him  start,  notwithstanding  all  his  precautions,  and  the 
fact  that  he  was  now  deep  in  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 

There  were  many  lines  of  fine  engraving  on  one  of 
the  flat  surfaces  of  the  brick ;  the  writing  was  in  French, 
with  which  Thrasher  seemed  familiar,  but  he  read  it 
over  with  great  care  more  than  once.  Then  sitting 
down,  with  the  brick  before  him,  he  took  out  a  graver 
and  began  to  cut  some  rude  letters  on  the  opposite  side. 


THE     TREASURE     VAULT.  447 

The  gold  was  very  soft,  in  its  pure  state,  and  he  made 
rapid  progress ;  but  the  record,  whatever  it  was,  took 
more  than  two  hours  in  the  completion.  When  it  was 
finished  he  dropped  the  brick  into  its  box,  leaving  it 
unlocked.  This  he  placed  just  within  the  mouth  of  the 
recess,  muttering,  "  it  will  be  the  first  thing  to  catch  the 
eye." 

After  this,  Thrasher  opened  another  box  and  took 
out  what  seemed,  by  their  glitter,  -to  be  some  unset 
diamonds.  These  he  placed  in  his  bosom.  Then  filling 
his  pockets  with  a  weight  of  the  gold  coin,  he  stepped 
into  the  outer  vault,  swung  the  granite  slab  into  place, 
and  proceeded  to  cement  it  into  the  wall  with  some 
material  which  he  took  from  one  of  the  casks. 

When  this  was  accomplished  he  stole  softly  up  the 
steps  again,  let  himself  into  the  upper  room,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  undraw  the  bolts,  which  had  given  the  doors 
and  windows  a  double  fastening.  There  was  nothing 
more  for  him  to  do.  Unconsciously  the  woman  who 
was  his  fate,  had  placed  him  in  a  position  to  accomplish 
all  that  was  needful  to  protect  his  wealth,  and  even  if  it 
should  be  found,  to  save  it  from  her  rapacity.  Once 
satisfied  of  this,  he  became  less  excited ;  for  during  his 
work,  great  drops  of  perspiration  had  stood  on  his  fore- 
head, and  a  wild  eagerness  burned  in  his  eyes  ;  now  he 
sat  down  in  his  easy  chair  for  the  last  time,  and  sternly 
awaited  the  coming  of  his  captors. 

About  daybreak  they  opened  his  prison  and  took  him 
forth.  He  turned  a  fierce  look  on  the  paradise  his  wild 
love  had  created  for  a  woman  who  now  loaded  his  mis- 
fortunes with  scorn,  and  muttered  such  bitter  words 
under  his  breath  that  their  venom  turned  his  lips  white 


448  SIMSBURY     MINES. 

as  it  passed  them.  In  these  words  the  last  remnant  of 
his  love  for  Ellen  Mason  went  out,  poisoning  the  sweet 
breath  of  the  flowers  over  which  it  swept. 


CHAPTER    LXIX. 

m 

SIMSBURY   MINES. 

AT  the  base  of  Greenstown  mountains,  in  the  town 
of  Granby,  stands  an  old  ruin,  surrounded  perhaps  by 
more  fearful  associations  than  any  one  spot  in  the 
United  States.  The  very  tread  of  a  stranger's  foot  on 
the  soil  arouses  painful  thoughts,  for  it  awakens  the 
reverberations  which  haunt  those  cavernous  ruins,  and 
every  sound  seems  weighed  down  with  moans,  such  as 
were  for  many  years  common  to  the  place. 

It  is  an  old  ruined  prison  I  am  writing  about — one  of 
the  most  terrible  places  of  confinement  ever  known  to 
this  free  country.  A  copper  mine,  which  failed  to  yield 
its  rich  metal  in  the  abundance  demanded  by  capitalists, 
had  been  abandoned,  and  over  the  caverns  hollowed 
out  from  the  bosom  of  the  earth,  the  authorities  of  Con- 
necticut erected  a  prison  for  criminals.  Thank  God  the 
place  is  a  ruin  now. 

Humanity  has  dragged  the  wretched  sinners  from 
their  burrowing  places  under  ground,  and  given  them  at 
least  pure  air  and  the  sunshine  which  God  created 
alike  for  the  innocent  and  the  guilty.  The  spot  is 
deathly  silent,  but  you  cannot  pass  it  without  an  aching 
heart,  for  the  misery  once  crowded  in  those  caverns 


SIMSBURY     MINES.  449 

gathers  around  the  imagination,  and  settles  upon  it  in  a 
heavj7  cloud,  surcharged  with  groans.  You  know  that 
human  misery  has  been  crowded  there  in  masses,  with- 
out air  to  breathe,  or  such  light  as  God  gives  to  his 
meanest  animal.  You  think  of  this  till  the  hollows  of 
the  mountains  seem  gorged  with  groans,  and  the  cry 
of  suffering  souls  comes  up  through  the  very  pores 
of  the  earth,  making  the  wild  flowers  tremble  beneath 
the  doleful  misery  that  grew  desperate  beneath  their 
roots. 

A  group  of  rambling  wooden  buildings  thrown  promis- 
cuously together,  at  the  foot  of  a  range  of  hills,  stand- 
ing out  bleak  and  bare,  form  the  ruthless  feature  of  a 
lovely  landscape.  One  building,  lifted  from  the  abrupt 
descent  of  the  mountain  by  a  double  terrace  of  rocks, 
commanding  a  view  of  the  country,  which  contrasted 
its  rich  cultivation,  pleasant  homesteads,  and  well-filled 
barns  with  that  narrow  roof  and  meagre  belfry,  rose 
beneath  the  wild  beauty  of  the  mountains.  This  was 
the  aspect  of  Newgate  built  over  the  Sinisbury  Mines, 
at  the  time  Katharine  Allen  first  recognized  it  from 
the  highway,  which  she  must  not  tread  again  for  eight 
weary  years. 

The  front  building  alone  was  visible.  That  long  at- 
tachment which  runs  back  toward  the  hills,  with  its 
range  of  narrow  windows,  and  the  smaller  buildings 
crowded  against  it,  lay  in  shadow,  but  from  the  distance 
there  was  something  imposing  in  the  uncouth  pile.  The 
sun  was  approaching  its  rest,  and  flung  increasing  light 
around  the  old  prison,  giving  it  gleams  of  false  cheerful- 
ness that  never  entered  its  walls. 

Katharine,  who  sat  in  the  heavy  country  wagon,  be- 
tween her  guards,  chained  to  the  seat,  and  with  her  deli- 
28 


450  SIMSBURY     MINES. 

cate  wrists  chafed  by  the  iron  that  weighed  those  little 
hands  down  to  her  lap,  looked  toward  the  gaunt  pile 
with  a  feeling  of  sad  speculation.  Why  had  she — an 
innocent  woman — been  sent  to  a  place  like  that  ?  for  it 
was  terrible,  even  in  the  glory  of  sunset.  In  her  whole 
life  she  had  committed  no  wrong  worthy  of  more  than 
gentle  punishment.  Was  it  not  enough  that  her  hus- 
band had  abandoned  her  ?  that  her  child  was  dead  ? 
that  her  name  had  become  a  by-word  in  the  land  ?  Not 
enough  that  she  had  gone  through  the  first  and  most 
bitter  portion  of  her  sentence — had  suffered  that  hour 
of  public  scorn  on  the  gallows  at  New  Haven — a  more 
terrible  penance  than  if  her  life  had  been  exacted,  for 
the  memory  was  with  her  always  ?  Must  the  laws  be 
forever  warring  at  her  young  life  ?  Was  that  huge  pile 
to  be  her  home  for  eight  long  years  ?  They  would 
crowd  her  down  among  the  desperate  criminals  who  bur- 
rowed their  lives  out  in  the  bosom  of  that  mountain,  and 
leave  her  to  die  there. 

But  could  she  die  ?  Would  the  principles  of  life  ever 
give  way  ?  When  the  sentence  had  been  pronounced 
upon  her,  and  the  judge  had  condemned  her  to  go 
through  all  the  forms  of  an  ignominious  death  without 
its  last  horrible  pangs,  she  had  said  to  herself,  "  It  is 
well.  I  shall  not  live  through  that  hour.  They  will  not 
kill  me ;  but  I  shall  drop  dead  on  the  scaffold.  It  is 
thus  our  Lord  will  be  merciful,  and  save  me  from  all  this 
misery." 

But,  alas!  we  cannot  die  of  our  own  will.  She  had 
outlived  that  hour,  and  now  stood  before  her  second 
fate,  and  no  signs  of  death  came  to  snatch  her  from  it. 
The  anguish  of  this  thought  broke  upon  her  as  her  eyes 
fell  upon  that  gloomy  pile,  and  she  cried  out  in  the 
depths  of  her  soul  • 


SIMSBURY     MINES.  451 

"  My  God !  my  God  !  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?" 

As  the  cry  left  her  lips,  she  lifted  her  chained  hands 
to  her  face,  and  shut  out  the  prison  from  her  sight, 
moaning  because  God  would  not  let  her  die. 

The  two  men  heard  this  outburst  of  misery,  and  looked 
on  each  other  in  silence.  One  turned  his  head  aside, 
and  drew  the  cuff  of  his  coat  across  his  eyes,  and  the 
other  spoke  sharply  to  his  horses  and  began  to  lash 
them ;  but  his  voice  and  arm  failed,  and  he,  too,  turned 
away  his  face. 

"  Look  up,  my  poor  gal,"  he  said,  at  last,  pointing 
toward  the  mountain  with  his  whip.  "  It  doesn't  look 
so  tarnal  gloomy  now." 

Katharine  dropped  her  hands,  and  the  iron  clashed 
down  to  her  lap  again.  The  sun  was  now  at  its  full 
setting,  and  flung  a  thousand  gorgeous  tints  on  the 
old  prison.  Its  windows  sent  back  a  blaze  of  gold, 
the  cupola  seemed  brimming  over  with  crimson  radi- 
ance, and  rich  lights  slanted  down  the  terraces  of  the 
mountain. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  thoughtfully.  "  God  i»  everywhere 
— even  in  that  place.  If  He  will  not  let  me  die  it  is 
because  there  is  work  for  me  to  do.  I  shall  find  it 
among  poor  souls  yonder — more  miserable  still  than  I 
am,  for  they  struggle  under  a  weight  of  guilt ;  and  I — • 
God  help  us  all.  I  shall  find  some  one  to  tend  and  com- 
fort there." 

Katharine  grew  resigned  under  these  good  thoughts, 
and  a  sweet  tranquillity  stole  into  her  eyes.  She  was 
innocent.  God  knew  that,  and  she  knew  it,  for  had  not 
her  babe  gone  to  Him  pure  from  her  own  heart  ?  Why 
should  she  question  His  graciousness  ?  If  He  per- 
mitted her  home  to  be  in  that  prison,  what  right  had 


452  SIMSBURY     MINES. 

she  to  rebel  against  it?  In  this  frame  of  mind  she 
entered  Newgate. 

It  was  that  sad  hour  which  consigned  the  prisoners, 
whose  toil  lay  above  ground,  to  this  living  tomb,  deep  in 
the  earth.  The  crash  of  hammers  and  clank  of  iron  had 
ceased  in  the  workshops,  and  the  prisoners  were  assem- 
bled in  the  main  building,  read}7  to  descend  into  the 
mines  in  search  of  such  rest  as  that  terrible  place  could 
afford. 

The  officers  of  the  prison  were  occupied.  Guards 
leaned  idly  on  their  muskets,  and  a  group  of  keepers 
kept  strict  watch  over  the  terrible  group.  They  had  no 
time  for  newcomers,  so  Katharine  stood  between  her 
guards,  drooping  wearily  under  her  irons,  and  looked 
on,  forgetting  herself  in  compassion  for  those  lost 
wretches. 

A  trap-door,  scarcely  large  enough  to  admit  a  healthy 
man,  led  to  the  subterranean  dungeons.  Around  this 
the  prisoners  crowded,  some  swearing  fiercely,  others 
laughing  in  fiendish  glee,  a  few  humble  and  broken- 
hearted, all  hustling  each  other  like  wild  animals 
crowded  on  a  precipice.  The  guards  and  keepers  looked 
on  impatiently.  The  clank  of  chains  and  those  hag- 
gard prison  faces  were  familiar  to  them.  They  were 
only  impatient  to  urge  the  crowd  down  that  narrow 
passage,  and  seal  the  unhappy  wretches  deep  in  the 
bowels  of  the  eartn,  when  their  duty  ceased  till  morning. 

Down  through  this  narrow  trap  the  prisoners  forced 
themselves,  cursing  as  they  went,  and  jesting  at  their 
own  misery.  At  last  all  had  disappeared  save  a  little 
band  of  women  in  "linsey-woolsey"  dresses  cut  very 
scant,  who  had  waited  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  under 
a  guard,  for  their  turn  to  descend.  As  they  passed 


STJISBURY     MINES.  453 

Katharine,  these  women  lifted  their  heavy  eyes  to  her 
face,  too  miserable  for  pity  or  wonder ;  "but  her  beauty 
and  the  strange  expression  of  her  features  made  them 
pause  and  look  upon  her  as  if  they  could  not  believe 
that  she  was  one  of  themselves. 

Some  formalities  passed.  Katharine's  name,  age,  and 
sentence  were  written  down  in  the  black  records  of  the 
prison:  "Katharine  Allen,  aged  twenty-two,  found 
guilty  of  manslaughter  in  the  first  degree  ;  sentenced  to 
sit  upon  a  gallows  in  the  public  square  of  New  Haven 
for  one  hour,  and  serve  eight  years  at  hard  labor  in  the 
State  Prison  at  Simsbury." 

Twice  as  the  warden  made  this  record  he  stopped  to 
look  at  the  prisoner.  Her  presence  troubled  him  with 
vague  compassion.  He  took  the  irons  from  her  arms 
himself,  and  rubbed  the  chafed  wrists  gently  with  his 
palm,  muttering,  "  Poor  wretch,  poor  wretch.  It's  hard 
to  put  her  down  among  them." 

It  was  not  often  that  this  dignitary  visited  the  sub- 
terranean prison,  but  he  called  the  keeper  most  remark- 
able for  kindliness  of  heart  and  bade  him  ^ke  her  away. 
His  voice  was  gentle  and  Katharine  looked  at  him  grate- 
fully, but  she  was  afraid  to  speak,  for  while  standing 
near  the  trap-door  she  had  seen  a  keeper  strike  one  of 
the  women  who  presumed  to  answer  him. 

A  rude  ladder,  which  stood  almost  perpendicular,  led 
from  the  trap-door  to  the  dark  caverns  underneath. 
At  the  first  glance  Katharine  drew  back  sick  and  ap- 
palled by  the  black  gulf  into  which  they  were  urging 
her.  The  warden  came  forward  and  strove  to  reassure 
her,  but  she  trembled  violently  and  reeled  back  from 
the  door,  holding  out  her  hands  with  a  piteous  cry  for 
mercy. 


454:  SIMSBURY     MINES. 

There  was  no  help"  for  it ;  she  must  descend  like  the 
rest,  sleep  and  suffer  like  the  rest,  notwithstanding  her 
beauty  and  the  pure  magnetism  of  her  goodness.  She 
clung  to  the  kind  hand  reached  forth  by  the  warden, 
and  shutting  her  eyes  sunk  through  the  trap  and  placed 
her  trembling  feet  on  the  ladder.  The  keeper  was  just 
below  encouraging  her.  The  iron  lamp  which  he  held 
only  served  to  make  the  darkness  horrible.  The  black- 
ness into  which  she  was  passing  seemed  to  cover  her 
soul  and  body. 

At  last  her  feet  touched  the  earth.  The  skeleton  lad- 
der seemed  melting  away  in  the  darkness  overhead. 
The  keeper's  lamp  flickered  fitfully ;  a  mouldy  scent 
floated  around  her.  "This,"  she  murmured,  "this 
must,  indeed,  be  the  valley  and  shadow  of  death." 

The  man  opened  a  door  sunk  into  the  walls  of  the 
cavern,  and  there  was  a  rude  cell,  occupied  by  a  wooden 
bench,  over  which  some  straw  was  scattered ;  a  slanting 
board,  also  covered  with  straw,  rose  a  few  inches  above 
the  level  at  one  end,  and  this  was  all  the  pillow  that 
beautiful  head  would  know  for  eight  years.  The  keeper 
carried  a  coarse  gray  blanket  on  his  arm,  which  he  laid 
down  on  the  bench.  Katharine  took  up  the  blanket,  but 
her  hands  trembled  so  violently  that  she  could  not  un- 
fold it.  He  saw  this ;  set  his  lamp  on  the  earth,  and 
spread  the  blanket  over  the  straw.  She  tried  to  thank 
him,  but  could  not  speak. 

The  lamp  light,  faint  as  it  was,  revealed  drops  of 
moisture  glistening  thickly  on  the  walls  around  her,  and 
she  detected  the  dull  sound  of  water  falling  in  perpetual 
rain  from  the  low  ceiling.  This  was  the  end  of  her 
journey ;  this  was  her  home.  The  man  left  her  alone ; 
no  light,  no  voice  5  the  dull  dropping  of  water  from  the 


THE     PRISON     ANGEL.  455 

roof  was  all  the  sound  she  heard.  »No  wonder  that  she 
cried  out  again,  "  My  God,  my  God !  why  hast  Thou 
forsaken  me  ?" 


CHAPTER   LXX. 

THE   PRISON   ANGEL. 

THERE  is  no  cavern  so  deep,  no  darkness  so  profound 
that  the  Holy  One  cannot  penetrate  it  with  his  mercy. 
It  is  unrepentant  and  stubborn  guilt  alone  which  resists 
Him.  Soon  as  the  cry  left  her  lips,  Katharine  found 
her  answer.  Notwithstanding  the  hardness  of  her  bed 
and  the  damp  air  which  floated  heavily  around  her,  she 
grew  calm ;  some  heavenly  strength  fell  upon  her,  and, 
folding  her  hands  peacefully  over  her  bosom,  she  fell 
asleep.  The  water  kept  dropping  from  the  roof,  monoto- 
nous and  cold ;  the  fresh  straw  grew  moist  under  her 
cheek,  but  she  smiled  in  the  darkness  dnd  whispered 
softly  of  a  little  child  that  had  come  from  a  pleasant, 
happy  place  to  comfort  her,  and  which  would  visit  that 
hard  couch  nightly,  and  tell  her  of  the  heavenly  home 
where  it  had  found  a  resting-place  for  them  both. 

When  Katharine  awoke  in  the  morning,  she  was  sur- 
prised to  feel  how  strong  the  night  had  made  her,  and 
she  went  forth  to  the  life  which  had  seemed  so  terrible, 
with  the  firm  resolve  to  find  out  her  duty  and  do  it. 

What  human  being  ever  turned  resolutely  to  the  per- 
formance of  a  duty  without  finding  some  comfort  grow- 
ing up  under  it? 


456  THE     PRISON     ANGEL. 

The  gentleness  and  sweet  obedience  which  marked 
Katharine  Allen's  conduct  in  the  prison,  won  many  a 
kind  word  and  act  from  her  keepers.  Perhaps  her 
beauty  had  something  to  do  with  this ;  but  it  was  not 
her  beauty  which  made  those  rude  men  respect  her  in  the 
cells  of  that  copper  mine,  as  if  she  had  been  in  the 
chambers  of  a  palace.  It  was  not  her  beauty  which 
checked  the  curses  on  the  convict's  lips,  or  led  them  to. 
some  rude  efforts  of  politeness  as  she  passed  in  her 
humble  prison  garb. 

After  awhile,  Katharine  began  to  see  how  wise  and 
good  the  Almighty  had  been  in  sending  her  to  that 
gloomy  place  ;  how  all  unconsciously  she  had  been  led 
to  a  great  work  through  sorrows  that  prepared  her  for 
it,  step  by  step.  If  ever  woman  has  a  mission  except 
that  of  performing  the  duties  which  come  naturally 
before  her  day  by  day,  and  hour  by  hour,  it  is  that  of 
nursing  the  sick,  and  comforting  the  afflicted.  Women 
were  intended  for  the  gentler  works  of  humanity,  and 
who  shall  say  that  the  great  reformers  of  the  earth  can 
surpass  her  in  this  mission  of  love,  or  find  a  channel  in 
all  society  through  which  her  womanhood  can  be  so 
beautifully  perfected  ? 

It  is  guilt  which  makes  the  convict  repulsive  ;  attach 
a  firm  conviction  of  innocence,  or  even  repentance  to  the 
prisoner  and  his  coarse  dress  becomes  picturesque,  his 
hard  fare  sublime.  When  I  describe  Katharine  Allen 
in  prison  she  is  lifted  out  of  all  real  convict  life,  but 
seems  to  me  like  an  angel  wandering  through  those  dark 
places,  as  one  of  old  sought  out  and  unlocked  the  dun- 
geon of  the  apostle.  Suffering  had  done  a  heavenly 
work  with  this  young  creature.  Certainly,  she  had 
been  unjustly  punished,  but  had  not  this  chain  of  events 


THE     PRISON     ANGEL.  457 

brought  her  into  a  field  of  great  usefulness !  Of  her 
own  accord  would  she  ever  have  sought  that  place,  or 
descended  that  ladder  ?  Yet  where  on  earth  was  there 
a  spot  in  which  humanity  suffered  so  much,  or  where 
the  influence  of  a  good  woman  could  so  surely  bring 
comfort. 

In  her  solitude,  Katharine  remembered  many  a  wise 
lesson  and  kindly  precept  that  old  Mr.  Thrasher  had 
taught  her  when  she  was  restive  in  her  first  imprison- 
ment. It  was  wonderful  how  deeply  the  sayings  of  this 
good  old  man  had  impressed  her. 

It  was  not  long  before  Katharine  was  lifted  out  of  the 
deepest  misery  of  her  prison  life  and  placed  in  the  hos- 
pital as  head  nurse  of  that  most  horrible  place.  The 
unwholesome  position  of  the  prison,  the  dreary  darkness 
of  its  mines,  and  the  damps  that  trickled  down  their 
walls,  engendered  diseases  of  all  kinds  with  frightful 
rapidity,  and  that  bleak  hospital  room  was  always  full. 
Those  who  know  only  of  the  common  anguish  of  com- 
fortably appointed  sick  chambers  can  have  little  idea 
of  the  terrible  duties  which  fell  upon  this  young  crea- 
ture. Instead  of  prayers  she  heard  little  but  raving 
curses  of  the  past  and  eager  cries  for  release  from  that 
awful  life,  which  was  worse,  these  poor  wretches  pro- 
tested, over  and  over  again,  than  any  punishment  which 
could  await  their  souls  beyond  the  grave.  Some  would 
jest  desperately  about  the  ways  and  means  of  this  es- 
cape ;  laugh  about  the  scant  shrouds  and  pine  boxes 
in  which  they  must  set  forth  on  the  long  journey. 
Others  bore  their  pain  with  stolid  obstinacy,  fearing  to 
die,  but  dreading  to  get  well,  for  death  gave  them  to 
the  grave,  health  back  into  those  damp  mines,  which 
was  a  living  burial. 


458  THE     PRISON     ANGEL. 

With  the  sweet  calm  of  one  who  finds  an  unexpected 
duty  to  be  performed,  Katharine  entered  this  place. 
Her  very  presence  had  a  holy  effect  upon  the  suffering 
convicts.  Cruelty  only  hardens  sin,  and  in  those  days 
moral  kindness  to  a  convict  was  almost  considered  an 
offence  against  the  law.  Men  were  convicted  to  be 
punished,  not  with  any  idea  of  reformation,  and  being 
thrust  utterly  beyond  the  pale  of  mercy,  grew  desperate 
and  reviled  one  another  when  the  evil  spirit  tortured 
within  them  could  find  no  other  means  of  expression. 

But  the  sweet  goodness  of  this  young  woman,  their 
fellow-prisoner,  softened  all  this.  She  comforted  them 
with  her  gentle  ways ;  soothed  down  the  profane  spirit 
that  gave  out  curses  instead  of  groans,  and  dropped 
softer  feelings  into  those  uneasy  souls  as  Heaven  gives 
dew  to  weeds  trampled  along  the  dusty  highway.  She 
never  preached,  never  exhorted  them,  never  forced  the 
prison  Bible  upon  their  rejection ;  but  the  simple  pro- 
mises of  Scripture  fell  like  poetry  from  her  lips,  at  times 
when  the  hungry  soul  of  some  poor  convict,  not  utterly 
lost,  seemed  to  crave  comfort  at  her  hands.  Sometimes, 
too,  when  a  sick  man,  won  by  her  goodness,  would  ask 
where  she  found  the  beautiful  words  with  which  she  was 
striving  to  comfort  him,  Katharine  would  open  the 
Bible  and  read  aloud  to  convince  him  of  their  reality. 
Then  some  patient  in  the  next  cot  would  whisper  her  to 
read  louder,  and  when  her  silvery  voice  was  lifted  those 
sick  men  would  turn  wearily  on  the  hard  pillows  and 
listen. 

It  is  no  great  hardship  to  read  or  pray  with  the  sick. 
Many  a  dainty  person  can  be  found  to  perform  such 
duties  punctiliously ;  but  to  work  for  the  sick,  to  watch 
with  them,  wait  on  them,  and  with  little  means  supply 


THE     PRISON     ANGEL.  459 

great  wants — this  is  a  noble  work  even  for  the  patience 
and  endurance  of  a  woman.  This  is  charity  in  its  per- 
fect work,  mingling  prayers,  kindness,  and  stern  labor 
in  one  beautiful  phase  of  Christianity.  This  work 
Katharine  performed  so  well  that  the  fiend  which  she 
found  brooding  over  the  pillow  of  many  a  wretched  fel- 
low-creature, stole  away  under  the  sound  of  her  corn- 
fortings,  and  a  pitying  angel  came  in  his  place.  This 
was  a  work  of  slow  growth,  but  alas  !  Katharine  had 
plenty  of  time — eight  long  years. 

You  ask  me  if  this  young  girl  was  unhappy  in  her 
dreary  life,  and  I  answer  no.  Those  who  confer  great 
good  on  humanity  by  self-sacrifice,  cannot  be  made 
utterly  miserable.  To  such  hope  never  dies.  No,  I  say 
again,  the  slumber  which  Catharine  found  in  her  pauses 
of  rest  was  very  sweet.  At  such  times  the  dreary  sound 
of  those  water-drops  trickling  down  the  walls  of  her 
prison,  seemed  like  the  bell-like  murmurs  of  a  fountain, 
around  which  a  baby  child — one  that  always  came  in 
her  dreams — was  hovering  and  waiting  for  her  to  finish 
her  work  in  that  prison  and  see  how  beautiful  the  world 
was  beyond  it. 

I  cannot  pause  now  to  give  the  details  of  her  strange 
life,  or  tell  you  how  many  touching  events  rose  each 
day  to  interest  her  best  feelings.  The  prisoners,  young 
and  old,  began  to  look  upon  her  with  affection.  Even 
the  women,  whose  hearts  are  not  always  easy  of  access 
to  a  sister  woman,  received  her  little  kindnesses,  when 
she  found  power  to  offer  them,  with  something  like  grat- 
itude. All  this  won  upon  the  officers  of  the  institution. 
With  her  they  began  to  enforce  the  discipline  of  the 
prison  less  rigidly  than  they  had  ever  done  before ;  em- 
ployed her  in  lighter  tasks ;  gave  their  own  needle-work 


460  THE     SWEATING     OVEN. 

to  her  deft  fingers ;  and  frequently  supplied  her  with 
better  food  than  was  awarded  to  her  fellow  sufferers. 
She  received  every  favor  with  thankfulness,  but  took  no 
benefit  to  herself.  The  food  which  she  appeared  to  carry 
off  and  consume  in  private,  went  to  the  nourishing  of 
some  poor  invalid,  whose  grateful  eyes  thanked  her  and 
told  of  gentler  feelings  growing  up  in  his  heart. 

Thus,  through  her  favor  with  the  prison  officers  and 
her  influence  with  the  convicts,  this  young  woman  won 
for  herself  a  power  of  good,  which  those  terrible  walls 
had  never  witnessed  since  their  foundation. 


CHAPTER   LXXI. 

THE    SWEATING   OVEN. 

DOWN  in  the  depths  of  those  prison  mines  many  a 
terrible  scene  took  place  at  which  humanity  shuddered. 
Once  huddled  under  ground  and  sealed  in  with  the 
massive  iron  bars  that  crossed  that  small  trap-door, 
little  care  was  needed  for  the  safety  of  the  prisoners. 
So,  like  wild  catt)e  hustled  into  a  pound,  they  were  left 
to  their  own  vicious  instincts,  and  those  often  led  to 
riot  and  revolt.  Sometimes  the  terrible  monotony  of 
this  life  was  broken  by  a  new  gang  of  prisoners,  who, 
shocked  and  outraged  in  every  manly  feeling  by  the 
degradation  heaped  upon  them,  fiercely  resisted  the 
rules  which  levelled  them  below  the  common  brutes  of 
the  field,  and,  like  wild  animals  just  lassoed  on  the 
prairies,  turned  fiercely  upon  their  tormentors. 


THE     SWEATING     OVEN.  461 

Cases  of  horrible  cruelty  often  occurred  in  the  prison  ; 
Katharine  knew  of  it  only  from  the  fierce  noises  that 
echoed  through  her  cell  at  night,  and  by  the  fright- 
ened faces  that  passed  before  her  during  the  next  day. 
It  was  enough  to  shock  the  most  hardened  human  soul, 
to  know  that  any  of  those  terrible  means  of  punishment, 
invented  as  the  curse  of  our  prisons,  was  in  progress. 
The  very  idea  was  enough  to  drive  the  blood  from 
Katharine's  heart.  But  she  was  helpless — had  not  even 
the  power  of  protest — all  she  could  do  was  to  turn  her 
pitying  eyes  on  the  poor  wretch  when  his  sufferings 
were  over,  and  thus  prove  that  compassion  existed  even 
in  that  terrible  place.  Usually  these  scenes  of  punish- 
ment ended  in  the  hospital,  then  her  sweet  ministry 
made  itself  deeply  felt,  and  many  a  hard  heart  yielded 
itself  to  her  kindness  which  the  most  bitter  correction 
had  failed  to  reach. 

Something  of  this  kind  had  just  transpired  in  the 
prison.  A  new  convict  had  been  sent  in  from  the  courts, 
and  his  first  resistance  of  the  prison  laws  had  been  met 
with  unusual  rigor.  That  night  Katharine  heard  low 
groans,  but  no  cries  followed  the  crack  of  the  lash,  which 
fell  so  sharply  and  lasted  so  long  that  every  nerve 
in  her  body  quivered  and  shrunk  with  that  keen  sym- 
pathy which  made  the  anguish  of  a  fellow-creature  her 
own. 

She  arose  in  the  morning  literally  sore  at  heart, 
wounded  with  more  tender  anxiety  than  had  ever 
affected  her  before  regarding  the  man  who  had  borne 
those  awful  lashes  so  bravely.  Her  duties  for  a  time 
lay  under  ground,  where  much  of  the  prison  work  was 
done.  She  went  about  them  with  a  heavy  heart.  The 
damp,  the  close  atmosphere,  and  absence  of  all  sunlight 


462  THE     SWEATING     OVEN. 

deepened  the  despondency  that  had  seized  upon  her. 
Tii  these  subterraneous  vaults  is  a  vast  oven,  in  which 
the  prisoners'  bread  was  baked,  and  here  her  duties  for 
the  morning  were  appointed.  A  woman  stood  before 
this  oven  casting  wood  into  the  red  caverns  of  fire  that 
glowed  behind  the  rolling  smoke.  The  woman  paused 
with  a  huge  stick  of  pitch  pine  half  lifted  to  the  oven, 
and  balancing  it  a  moment  in  her  hands,  she  cast  it  to 
the  earth,  and  sitting  down  upon  it  began  to  cry. 

Katharine  advanced  that  moment,  and  touched  her  on 
the  arm. 

"  I  can't — I  can't !  Whip  me,  if  you  like — put  me  in 
with  him,  but  I  can't  do  it !" 

The  woman  evidently  thought  it  one  of  the  keepers, 
who  had  watched  her  rebellious  movement.  Katharine 
bent  over  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Jones  ?  It  is  only  I.  Can  I 
help  you  ?" 

The  woman  looked  up,  relieved  by  the  voice. 
"  No,"  she  said,  heavily.     "  It  is  the  old  story.     You 
heard  the  lash  last  night — it  kept  us  all  awake.     It  is  a 
new  prisoner  they  are  breaking  in ;  a  handsome,  fine 
fellow  ;  but  he  stood  them  out  like  a  lion,  and  now — " 
The  woman  paused  and  looked  toward  the  oven  with 
a  sort  of  terror  in  her  eyes. 

"  And  now — oh !  Jane,  is  he  dead  ?"  whispered  Kath- 
arine. "  Did  they  kill  him  ?" 

The  woman  pointed  to  a  narrow  door  built  close  to 
the  mouth  of  the  oven,  and  whispered — 
"  He  is  in  there  !" 
Katharine  recoiled. 

"  In  there,  and  that  fire  raging  so ;  God  have  mercy 
upon  us !  it  is  death !" 


THE     SWEATING     OVEN.  463 

"No,  not  alwaj-s;  not  often,  I  think,"  answered  the 
woman  ;  "  but  I  never  did  this  work  before.  The  sweat 
oven  has  not  been  used  in  my  time  till  now.  It's 
awful !" 

A  smothered  moan,  which  rose  above  the  roar  and 
crackle  of  the  fire,  curdled  the  very  blood  in  Katharine's 
veins. 

"  What  is  it  ?  What  is  the  horrible  thing  they  are 
doing  ?"  she  cried,  wildly.  "  What  is  that  place  ?" 

"  You  see  the  door — how  narrow  it  is — a  poor  creature 
can  hardly  push  through.  Inside,  it  is  just  as  narrow ; 
stone  walls  pressing  close  up  against  the  wretch,  heated 
from  the  oven  hot  as  life  can  bear." 

"Oh,  my  God,  my  God,  is  this  thing  true?"  cried 
Katharine,  cowering  down,  and  covering  her  face  with 
both  hands. 

"I  wont  heap  on  the  wood,"  cried  the  woman,  bit- 
terly. "  They  haven't  the  power  to  make  me." 

"  Hush,  hush;  some  one  is  coming." 

It  was  a  keeper  to  whom  the  terrible  punishment  had 
been  entrusted.  Katharine  rose  slowly,  to  her  feet  and 
stood  before  him,  her  hands  clasped,  and  the  pale  anguish 
of  her  face  revealed  by  the  fire  light,  which  illuminated 
the  darkness  all  around  them. 

"What  are  you  women  talking  about  ?  Go  to  your 
work,  Katharine  Allen." 

She  could  not  speak,  but  fell  upon  her  knees,  beseech- 
ing him  with  those  wild  eyes. 

"What  is  all  this  about?"  said  the  man,  softening  his 
voice. 

"  She  wants  you  to  let  that  poor  man  out — that's  it," 
answered  the  woman,  resting  both  elbows  on  her  knees, 
and  looking  up  from  her  seat  on  the  wood.  "  She 


464  THE     SWEATING     OVEN. 

knows  it  aint  human  to  treat  any  of  God's  creatures  in 
this  way,  and  wants  to  tell  you  so,  only  them  groans 
has  frightened  the  soul  out  of  her  body." 

The  man  looked  down  at  the  3roung  creature  kneeling 
at  his  feet,  and  a  shade  of  sympathy  swept  over  his 
face. 

"  Get  up,"  he  said,  almost  kindly.  "  I  have  just  come 
to  see  about  him.  This  sort  of  thing  don't  gibe  with 
my  feelings  more  than  it  does  with  yours,  but  the  fellow 
was  obstinate  as  a  mule — wanted  a  little  of  the  proud 
blood  sweated  out  of  him,  and  I  reckon  he's  got  enough 
of  it  by  this  time." 

"  Oh,  be  quick,  be  quick,  or  he  may  die  !"  cried  Katha- 
rine, gaming  her  voice.  "  How  faint  the  moans  are  ! 
Open  the  door!  open  the  door! — hear  how  his  poor 
hands  beat  against  it !" 

"  Well,  go  away — this  is  no  place  for  you.  Run  to 
the  well,  and  have  some  water  dipped  up  ready.  They 
always  make  a  dive  for  that  first." 

Katharine  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  darting  across  the 
space  illuminated  by  the  oven,  made  her  way  toward 
the  well,  which  gushed  out  pure  and  crystalline  in  the 
depths  of  the  mine,  the  only  untainted  thing  in  those 
subterranean  regions.  An  iron  lamp  swung  in  the  walls 
of  the  cavern  near  this  outgush  of  pure  water,  which 
turned  all  the  wavelets  it  touched  to  gold. 

This  was  the  spot  to  which  the  prisoners  came  when 
athirst,  like  cattle  to  a  spring ;  and  to  this  place,  as  the 
keeper  truly  said,  the  man  who  had  suffered  from  the 
flames  of  that  hot  oven  would  surely  come. 

Katharine  took  an  iron  dipper,  which  was  chained  to 
the  stones  of  the  well,  and  filling  it  with  water,  held  it 
till  the  weight  bore  down  her  hand,  then  she  filled  it  once 


THE     SWEATING     OVEN.  465 

more  from  the  centre  of  the  well,  and  again  held  it 
ready.  This  time  she  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  she  saw 
a  human  figure  coming  through  the  darkness  with  des- 
perate effort,  but  slow  progress — making  futile  attempts 
at  speed,  and  giving  broken  leaps  that  brought  him 
reeling  and  staggering  every  instant  against  the  sides 
of  the  cavern. 

Katharine  poured  out  the  water,  and  dipped  it  up 
afresh,  as  if  that  little  effort  could  make  it  cooler.  Stie 
would  have  gone  forward  to  meet  the  man,  but  the  chain 
would  not  permit  it,  and  thus  she  stood  waiting  till  he 
came  up.  He  saw  the  vessel  in  her  hand,  dripping  over 
with  a  rain  of  cool  drops,  and  seizing  upon  it  before 
she  could  look  up,  drained  it  off  in  wild,  greedy  haste. 

"More!  more!"  he  cried,  dropping  the  dipper,  and 
sweeping  the  perspiration  from  his  face.  "  More  !  more  I" 

Katharine  plunged  the  dipper  into  the  well  again. 
He  would  have  snatched  it  from  her  but  she  lifted  it 
to  his  lips.  In  this  position  the  lamp-light  fell  upon 
her  face.  She  dropped  the  iron  vessel  from  between  her 
two  hands,  as  he  fell  forward  with  his  face  to  the  earth. 
She  did  not  breathe — for  her  life  she  could  not  have 
uttered  a  sound — but  dropping  on  her  knees  beside  the 
prostrate  man,  she  lifted  his  head  from  the  earth.  The 
light  lay  full  upon  his  face.  His  eyes  looked  piteously 
into  hers.  She  drew  him  up  to  her  bosom ;  with  the 
folds  of  her  prison  dress  she  wiped  the  rain  of  perspi- 
ration from  his  forehead  and  left  tender  kisses  in  its 
place ;  soft  words  came  to  her  lips,  tears  swelled  into 
her  eyes ;  she  had  but  one  thought — holy  thanksgiving 
to  Heaven. 

Directly  the  keeper  came  up,  wondering  that  his  vic- 
tim should  remain  so  long  at  the  well. 
29 


466  THE     SWEATING     OVEN. 

"  Halloo !"  he  said,  "what  is  this  ?  I  thought  you  were 
half  dead,  my  fine  fellow !" 

Katharine  looked  up  ;  her  face  was  radiant,  and  yet 
a  tender  pity  beamed  there. 

"  Hush  !"  she  said ;  "  he  is  my  husband." 

The  keeper  gave  a  prolonged  whistle  that  echoed 
mournfully  through  the  caverns,  but  Katharine  repeated : 

"  Yes,  it  is  my  husband." 

Thrasher  did  not  speak,  but  she  felt  him  trembling  in 
her  arms ;  his  head  rested  more  heavily  on  her  bosom  ; 
he  scarcely  breathed. 

The  keeper  felt  some  gleams  of  sympathy  swelling  in 
his  bosom.  "With  him  Katharine  had  always  been  a 
favorite.  He  took  compassion  on  her  now. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  he  has  had  a  tough  job  of  it,"  he  said  ; 
"weak  as  a  kitten — why,  see  how  he  trembles ;  I'll  just 
go  to  the  warden  and  have  him  sent  lip  to  the  hospital, 
where  you  can  tend  him  till  he  picks  up  again." 

Katharine  smiled  gratefulty,  and  they  were  left  alone, 
the  woman  and  her  husband.  She  bent  down  and  kissed 
him. 

"  Nelson,  my  husband,  speak  one  word — say  that  you 
know  me." 

He  whispered  hoarsely,  "  Yes,  Katharine,  I  know 
you." 

"  And  love  me  yet  ?" 

The  proud  man  was  shorn  of  his  strength,  and  burst 
into  tears.  When  the  keeper  returned,  her  hand  was 
locked  in  that  of  her  husband.  He  was  talking  to  her 
in  a  feeble  voice,  broken  with  grief;  telling  her  things 
which  made  even  that  dark  place  still  darker — of  his 
unfaithfulness  and  its  stern  retribution.  His  heart  was 
broken  up,  he  kept  nothing  back.  His  crimes  were 


THE     SWEATING     OVEN.  467 

great,  but  the  record  was  given  in  few  words,  saddening 
the  poor  wife,  who  had  been  so  happy  a  moment 
before,  in  spite  of  her  bonds.  She  heard  him  through, 
wondering  that  so  much  of  joy  should  lie  underneath 
these  facts,  and  whispering  to  herself:  "  He  will  be  here 
seven  years,  and  I  with  him.  Oh,  how  much  can  be 
done  in  seven  years !" 

The  keeper  had  compassion  on  them ;  he  led  Thrasher 
away  to  that  portion  of  the  prison  devoted  to  the  sick, 
and  there  the  heaven  of  Katharine's  convict  life  grew 
bright,  for  she  saw  the  path  of  her  duty  clear,  and  knew, 
in  her  soul,  that  a  holy  work  lay  in  her  hands,  a  work 
of  comfort  and  regeneration,  which  should  lead  her 
husband  into  the  sunlight  again. 

She  forgave  him  from  the  depths  of  her  own  pure 
heart ;  she  forgave  him  all  the  wrong  he  had  done,  and 
all  ^he  hopes  he  had  destroyed.  Her  care,  her  gentle- 
ness, and  the  holy  faith  that  pervaded  her  words  and 
acts,  had  its  effect  on  this  iron-hearted  man.  I  cannot 
describe  that  which  is  beyond  words,  or  tell  how  this 
gentle  martyr  reached  the  stern  man's  heart ;  but  it 
softened  day  by  day  under  her  patient  tending,  and 
when  he  went  back  to  the  dreary  duties  of  those  prison  • 
mines,  it  was  with  a  changed  aspect.  She  had  taught 
him,  not  only  how  beautiful  a  thing  human  love  is,  but 
through  that  most  sacred  of  earthly  feelings,  led  him 
to  the  holy  source  of  all  love,  all  honor,  all  the  glory 
of  life. 

And  so,  as  the  years  of  their  imprisonment  wore  on, 
these  two  people  bore  their  fate  with  something  better 
than  mere  resignation.  They  were  content  to  work  out 
the  duties  before  them,  feeling  it  recompense  enough  if 
they  could  smile  on  each  other  in  passing  down  to  their 


468  UNDER     THE     APPLE     TREE. 

places  of  rest,  or  exchange  a  word  of  comfort  and  en- 
couragement now  and  then  by  the  well,  where  they  had 
first  met. 

Do  not  pity  these  people  overmuch;  where  true  love 
and  faith  exists,  there  is  little  need  of  compassion.  Out 
of  the  depths  of  his  penitence  sprang  up  that  perfect  love 
which  makes  a  heaven  of  any  place.  As  for  Katharine, 
was  not  her  prison  life  made  bright  and  beautiful.  What 
was  seven  years  of  toil,  hunger,  and  thirst  to  her  if  it 
redeemed  the  husband  who  had  been  lost  ? 


CHAPTER    LXXII. 

UNDER   THE   APPLE    TREE. 

YEARS  had  passed — seven  long  years — and  in  that 
time  many  a  pleasant  change  had  taken  place  around 
the  minister's  dwelling.  Little  twigs  of  rose  bushes 
had  grown  into  blossoming  thickets  ;  the  big  apple  tree 
in  the  meadow  had  dry  spray  among  its  branches,  like 
gray  hairs  on  the  head  of  a  strong  man ;  tiny  honey- 
suckle shoots  had  spread  into  luxuriant  vines ;  a  row  of 
red  cherry  trees  along  the  fence  was  beginning  to  glow 
with  fruit  in  season.  Every  thing  inside  and  out  of  the 
minister's  dwelling  had  prospered.  He  had  scarcely 
grown  a  day  older  in  his  own  person.  Indeed,  with  his 
home  comforts  so  cared  for,  and  his  wardrobe  in  order, 
he  seemed  a  younger  man  than  we  found  him,  when, 
standing  between  the  two  deacons,  counselling  about 
the  meadow  lot,  which  now  bloomed  Eden-like  around 
him. 


UNDER  THE  APPLE  TREE.     469 

As  for  the  minister's  wife,  she  had  never  looked  so 
young,  and  it  seemed  impossible  that  she  should  ever 
grow  old ;  a  few  almost  imperceptible  wrinkles  marked 
the  corners  of  her  prim  little  mouth,  but  that  was  all. 

Still,  youth  knows  rapid  changes,  and  other  things 
than  honeysuckles  and  roses  had  bloomed  into  perfec- 
tion at  the  parsonage.  There  was  a  lovely  girl  sitting 
under  the  apple  tree,  not  gathering  fruit  or  blossoms,  as 
of  old,  but  busy  with  her  crochet  needle  and  a  ball  of 
crimson  worsted,  that  would  keep  rolling  from  her  lap 
into  the  grass  in  the  most  provoking  manner.  By  her 
side,  half  lying  on  the  ground,  was  a  youth,  the  most 
splendid  specimen  of  early  manhood  you  ever  saw,  look- 
ing at  her  as  she  worked,  with  an  expression  in  those 
dark  eyes  which  could  only  have  sprung  from  the  one 
great  passion  of  life. 

*As  Rose  worked,  a  smile  dimpled  the  fresh  mouth, 
and  she  glanced  sideways  at  Paul  from  under  those 
long,  brown  lashes,  coquetting  with  him  in  her  innocent 
way,  but  with  a  grace  that  was  enough  to  bring  the 
youth's  heart  into  his  eyes.  Jube  was  at  work  in  the 
garden  at  a  distance,  singing  to  himself,  and  pausing 
now  and  then  to  regard  the  scene  going  on  under  the 
apple  tree. 

This  was  what  was  passing  between  the  young  people. 
Rose  paused  a  moment  with  her  crochet  hook  in  a  half- 
looped  stitch,  and  the  smile  trembled  on  her  sweet 
mouth.  Paul  had  asked  a  question,  expressed  a  thou- 
sand times  before,  but  never  with  that  intonation  and 
significance. 

"  Rose,  do  you  love  me  ?" 

Now  the  bloom  of  roses  mounted  to  her  forehead,  and 
swept  down  the  snow  of  her  neck  !  Paul  saw  it,  and 


470  UNDER     THE     APPLE     TREE. 

blushed  also — the  lashes  drooped  over  those  great  vel- 
vety eyes,  and  a  strange  thrill,  too  sweet  for  pain,  too 
new  for  entire  pleasure,  ran  through  his  whole  system. 

"Rose,  do  you  love  me?" 

As  I  have  said,  she  had  answered  that  question  a 
thousand  times  before,  but  now  it  took  away  her  voice. 
She  bent  her  head  and  commenced  her  work  again, 
looping  up  the  worsted  with  desperate  haste. 

"  Why  don't  you  speak,  Rose  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  she  replied,  trembling 
all  over. 

"  Don't  know  what  to  say !"  repeated  Paul,  sitting 
upright,  and  turning  his  startled  eyes  full  upon  her. 
"  I  ask  if  you  love  me,  and — oh,  Rose,  is  there  a  doubt  ?" 

Rose  shook  her  head  and  bent  over  her  work. 

"If  I  ask  this  now,"  said  Paul,  very  earnestly,  "it  is 
because  I  wish  to  be  certain  that — that — oh,  Rose,  -why 
can't  you  answer  me  ?" 

"  I  have  answered,  Paul." 

"  But  you  turn  away.     You  will  not  look  at  me." 

"  Yes — see,  I  do." 

His  face  brightened  all  over ;  taking  her  hand,  which 
he  tangled  up  in  the  crimson  thread  in  his  impetuosity, 
he  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

"I  am  going  away,  Rose." 

"  Going  away — oh,  Paul !" 

"  Yes  ;  don't  turn  so  white.  I  shall  come  back  again 
in  a  few  months — it  is  not  so  far  off." 

"Where,  where?" 

She  could  not  complete  the  sentence,  her  tears  rose 
so  quick  and  fast. 

"  I  am  going  back  to  my  old  home,  Rose,  in  St.  Do- 
mingo. My  father  was  a  rich  man  there — one  of  the 


UNDER  THE  APPLE  TREE.     471 

first  and  highest  in  the  island.  I  can  remember  that 
without  help,  but  Jube  has  told  me  more  than  this.  He 
and  his  brothers,  a  large  family,  were  all  killed  in  that 
awful  massacre.  They  had  great  riches  in  gold  and 
jewels.  I  saw  piles  and  piles  of  gold  brought  into  my 
father's  house  that  last  week,  and  heard  those  gentle- 
men, my  father  and  his  brothers,  pledge  themselves  to 
defend  it  each  for  the  other,  so  long  as  one  of  them 
should  live.  This  compact  was  not  written,  but  en- 
graved on  a  brick  of  gold,  that  it  might  be  permanent, 
and  carry  its  own  record  wherever  the  treasures  went. 
I  was  a  boy,  and  too  young  for  a  trust  of  so  much  mag- 
nitude. Where  these  treasures  were  put  I  never  knew. 
My  uncles  were  all  killed.  My  father,  my  mother — oh, 
Rose,  you  know  about  that.  I  alone  was  left  of  the 
family.  Jube,  dear  old  Jube  yonder,  is  all  the  servant 
of  our  great  household.  My  mother  entrusted  him  with 
her  jewels.  They  fell  into  the  hands  of  Captain 
Thrasher." 

Rose  uttered  a  faint  cry,  and  covered  her  face  to  hide 
its  shame. 

"Don't,  Rose,  don't,"  said  Paul ;  "  I  am  not  blaming 
any  one.  Only  telling  you  how  it  happened  that  Jube 
and  I  became  so  poor.  There  was  some  gold  with  the 
jewels,  and  that  Rice  made  Thrasher  give  up.  It  has 
supported  us  ever  since,  for  Rice  traded  with  it,  and 
kept  it  growing,  good  fellow.  But  that  is  very  little, 
Rose.  It  kept  us  from  being  a  burden  here,  but  what 
would  it  amount  to  when — when — " 

"  When  what,  Paul  ?" 

"When  you  and  I  are  married,  Rose." 

The  young  girl  drew  a  quick  breath.  The  crochet 
hook  fell  from  her  hand — her  arms,  neck  and  face  were 
bathed  in  blushes. 


472  UNDER     THE     APPLE     TEES. 

"  Have  you  never  thought  of  this,  Rose  ?"  said  Paul, 
tenderly. 

"  I  don't— don't  know,  Paul." 

"  But  you  will  think  of  it  ?" 

"Yes — yes." 

"  All  the  while  I  am  gone  ?" 

"  Gone  !"  The  tears  that  had  been  trembling  in  her 
eyes  dropped  to  the  roses  on  her  cheek.  He  saw  her 
grief  and  exulted  in  it. 

"  Jube  knows  where  those  treasures  were  buried.  It 
was  a  safe  place,  deep  in  the  vaults  under  my  father's 
house.  The  negroes  would  never  search  there.  Jube 
will  go  with  me ;  we  shall  find  all  this  gold,  and  then, 
Rose,  then — " 

She  looked  up,  piteously. 

"I  don't  care  for  gold ;  I  hate  jewels;  from  that  day 
I  have  hated  them.  Don't  go,  Paul ;  I  shall  die  before 
you  come  back." 

"  But  we  must  live.  When  your  father  comes  from 
the  Indies,  I  cannot  ask  for  his  daughter  without  some 
way  of  earning  or  giving  her  bread.  Those  treasures 
belong  to  me.  I  am  the  last  heir  of  our  house.  It  is 
for  your  sake  I  shall  search  for  them." 

"  No,  no  ;  I  am  afraid.  There  may  be  another  ship- 
wreck," cried  the  young  girl,  wringing  her  hands. 

"  Hush,  hush,  Rose !  Jube  is  looking  this  way ;  the 
old  fellow  will  wonder  what  we  are  talking  about." 

"  But — but  you  wont  go,  Paul  ?     It  is  too  cruel." 

"Not  till  you  consent.  You  are  my  queen  now, 
Rose,  and  shall  keep  or  send  me  as  you  like." 

She  brightened  with  a  sudden  thought. 

"  Wait  till  father  comes,"  she  said,  dashing  her  tears 
right  and  left  with  those  white  hands,  "and  then  we 


UNDER  THE  APPLE  TREE.     473 

can  all  go  together — tliat  is,  if  father  has  not  money 
enough  of  his  own." 

Paul  pressed  her  hand  again  gratefully,  as  if  she  had 
indeed  reigned  his  queen,  and  once  more  they  sunk  into 
the  old  attitude,  save  that  she  did  not  pretend  to  work, 
and  Paul  no  longer  vailed  the  joy  in  his  eyes. 

They  did  not  hear  the  rattle  of  wheels,  or  know  that 
a  wagon  had  stopped  at  the  parsonage  ;  thus  when  Jube 
came  hurriedly  from  his  work  in  the  garden,  with  intel- 
ligence in  his  face,  Rose  received  him  with  a  pretty 
pout,  and  Paul  inquired  rather  sharply  what  he  wanted 
coming  upon  them  in  that  rude  way. 

Poor  Jube  was  quite  taken  aback.  Never  in  his 
whole  life  had  he  been  so  received  by  the  young  people  ; 
the  joyful  words  were  driven  from  his  lips,  and  he  stood 
mutely  gazing  at  them  like  a  Newfoundland  dog  re- 
buked for  too  much  spirit. 

"  What  did  you  want  ?"  inquired  Paul,  self-rebuked 
and  softened. 

"  Why,  nothing,  master,  only  Tom  has  just  got  out 
of  the  wagon  and  is  coming  this  way." 

"  Tom  !     What— Tom  Hutchins  ?" 

"Yes,  master  ;  that 'shim  coming  through  the  kitchen 
door." 

Rose  started  up  all  in  commotion.  The  idea  of 
meeting  her  rustic  boy  lover  just  then  filled  her  with 
dismay.  But  there  was  no  escape.  He  was  half  across 
the  meadow,  making  directly  for  the  apple  tree.  A  fine, 
powerful  young  fellow  he  certainly  was — broad-chested 
and  stout  of  limb — but  there  was  the  same  frank  face, 
the  same  freckles  on  the  cheeks,  the  same  laughing  blue 
eyes.  He  came  up  a  little  awkwardly,  not  exactly 
knowing  how  to  use  his  arms  in  walking,  and  halted 


474:  OUT     OF     A     SCKAPE. 

a  few  yards  from  Rose  in  blank  astonishment  at  her 
beauty.  She  Trent  toward  him  at  once  holding  out  her 
hands. 


CHAPTER   LXXIII. 

OUT   OF   A    SCRAPE. 

"  MR.  HUTCHINS,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you!" 

He  took  her  outstretched  hands  and  pressed  them 
together  between  his  two  hard  palms. 

"Jest  as  sweet  as  ever;  and  oh,  lots  handsomer !"  he 
said,  with  awkward  gallantry. 

"  This  is  Paul,"  said  Rose,  embarrassed  by  his  rough 
compliment.  "  He  has  not  forgotten  yon." 

"  Xor  I  him,  by  a  long  shot,"  answered  Tom,  with 
energy.  "  How  are  you,  old  fellow  ?  Know  how  to 
speak  English,  hey  ?" 

Paul  laughed,  and  lost  his  slender  hand  in  Tom's 
grasp. 

"  I've  got  a  little  business  with  you,  by-and-bjV  said 
Tom  ;  "  something  terrible  mysterious  ;  and  nothing 
would  do  but  I  must  come  right  across  from  Siinsbury 
and  bring  it  myself.  You  guess,  I  reckon,  what  took 
me  out  there  ?" 

"  To  see  her  ?"  inquired  Paul,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,  nothing  else.  The  old  people  are  getting 
infirm,  and  can't  travel  no  more.  That  trial  kinder  did 
them  up  for  going  journeys,  yet  they  aint  content  with- 
out hearing  all  about  her  every  few  months.  So  this 
time  I  went  up.  Had  a  little  chore  of  my  own  in  that 


OUT     OF     A     SCRAPE.  475 

'ere  region,  and  wasn't  backward  to  go ;  besides,  I  raly 
du  feel  sorry  for  them  old  folks.  Not  one  word  have 
they  heard  from  Nelse  Thrasher  yet — think  he's  lost  at 
sea,  and  that  has  nigh  about  broke  their  hearts.  They 
are  getting  old  now,  I  tell  you." 

"  And  you  have  been  to  see  Katharine — that  was  very 
kind,  Tom.  If  ever  a  good  woman  lived,  she  is  one. 
How  did  you  find  her  ?" 

"  Handsomer  than  ever.  I  swan  to  man !  she  looked 
like  an  angel  just  come  down,  for  all  that  linsey-woolsey 
dress.  She's  soft  and  still  as  a  dove  in  brooding-time 
— never  complains — never  sheds  no  tears,  but  goes 
about  like — like — oh,  it  aint  of  the  least  use  trying  to 
give  you  any  idea  of  it." 

"  But  her  time  is  nearly  up ;  she'll  be  coming  out 
soon." 

"Not  jest  to  the  day,  I  reckon.  She  told  me  not  to 
let  them  send  arter  her,  for  she'd  got  a  duty  beyond  her 
freedom  day,  and  must  wait  till  some  one  else  was  set 
free ;  then  she  would  start  for  home,  and  stay  with  the 
old  people  all  her  life." 

"  It  is  like  her,  poor  soul,"  said  Paul,  with  deep  feel- 
ing ;  "  but  who  is  the  person  for  whose  liberation  she  is 
waiting  ?" 

"Jest  step  this  way  a  minute,  and  I'll  tell  you." 

Paul  stepped  aside,  and  walked  reluctantly  away  from 
Hose. 

"  Look-a-here — she  didn't  tell  me  nothing,  only  in  her 
sweet  way  asked  me  not  to  give  the  old  folks  any  news 
that  would  trouble  them,  as  if  she  kinder  thought  I 
knew ;  but  if  I  didn't  see  Nelse  Thrasher  in  that  'ere 
prison,  that  fellow  has  got  a  twin  brother  that's  been 
tried  and  convicted." 


476  OUT     OF     A     SCRAPE. 

Paul  started.  Had  Thrasher  indeed  been  punished  ? 
Was  he  now  atoning  his  crime  in  prison  ?  A  moment's 
thought,  and  he  understood  it  all.  The  generous  privacy 
with  which  the  trial  had  been  kept,  that  disgrace  need 
not  reach  Rose  or  her  mother.  He  remembered  now 
that  soon  after  Mason's  visit,  the  minister  and  his  wife 
had  been  absent  at  the  county  town  several  days,  and 
no  one  could  tell  why.  How  well  the  secret  had  been 
kept! 

"  We  must  not  mention  this  before  Rose,"  he  said, 
thoughtfully. 

"  Nor  the  old  people  neither,"  replied  Tom.  "  In  this 
case  the  least  said  is  soonest  mended ;  but  it  was  him, 
no  mistake  about  that.  To  own  up,  he  gin  me  this  letter 
with  his  own  hands,  and  a  little  heap  of  shiney  stones 
that  he  dug  out  from  the  wall  of  his  cell,  where  they'd 
been  hid  ever  since  he  went  to  the  prison.  Katharine 
told  him  he  could  trust  me,  and  he  did ;  but  you  never 
seen  a  feller  so  altered — he's  grown  steady  and  sober- 
looking,  and  has  a  soft,  kind  way  of  speaking  that 
makes  your  heart  rise  up  to  meet  him.  I  never  did  see 
any  thing  like  it.  He's  learned  to  smile,  and  it  does 
you  good  to  see  it.  I  raly  believe  he'll  live  to  be  a 
comfort  to  them  old  people  at  last — that  is  when  his 
time  is  up." 

"  I  hope  so,"  answered  Paul,  thoughtfully ;  "  but  you 
had  a  letter — is  it  for  Rose  ?" 

"No;  for  you." 

"Forme." 

"  Yes — do  you  know  that  the  chap  raly  thought  that 
you  was  dead  and  drowned  in  the  salt  sea,  till  a  little 
while  ago,  when  Katharine  happened  to  tell  him  about 
your  coming  up  to  Bungy  with  Jube,  and  how  you 


OUT     OF     A     SCRAPE.  477 

tried  to  help  her,  poor  young  critter.  You  remember 
that  night?" 

"Yes,  I  shall  never  forget  it," 

"  Well,  it  seems  he  was  thankful  to  know  that  you 
hadn't  gone  down  with  the  wreck — you  and  the  nigger ; 
and  he's  been  a  trying  to  get  this  'ere  letter  to  you  by 
safe  hands  ever  since,  but  couldn't  light  on  a  downright 
honest  chap  till  now." 

Paul  reached  forth  his  hand  to  receive  the  letter, 
thinking,  in  his  kind  heart,  "  Poor  man !  he  was  cruel 
to  me,  and  repents  of  it.  I  am  glad  for  his  own  sake." 

With  these  thoughts  he  broke  the  seal  and  began  to 
read : 

"  Paul  De  Varney,  I  have  wronged  you,  and  would 
make  restitution  so  far  as  human  will  can  atone  for 
crime.  You  are,  /  know,  the  only  living  heir  of  that 
proud  old  house  which  the  Revolution  destroyed.  The 
treasures  which  were  concealed  by  the  males  of  your 
family,  in  a  solemn  compact,  and  buried  in  the  vaults 
of  your  father's  house,  are  in  this  country.  I  brought 
them  in  the  vessel  which  Captain  Mason  had  commanded 
from  Port  au  Prince,  removed  them  safely  from  the 
Floyd  when  she  was  abandoned,  and  the  great  bulk  of 
them  has  never  passed  from  my  hands.  In  the  vicinity 
of  ISTew  York  is  a  large  mansion  house,  purchased  some 
years  ago  by  a  Mr.  Xelson.  If  you  ask  for  this  man 
Xelson,  they  will  tell  you  that  he  is  of  unsound  mind, 
and  has  been  safely  housed  for  years  in  an  insane  asy- 
lum. But  this  is  the  truth — I,  Nelson  Thrasher,  am  the 
man  to  whom  that  house  belonged.  In  the  depths  of  a 
secret  vault,  which  you  will  find  under  the  south 
wing,  I  have  concealed  the  treasures  which ^are  yours. 
There  is  a  room  in  that  wing,  furnished  as  a  gentleman's 
study,  the  floor  is  a  mosaic  of  colored  marble. 


478  OUT     OF     A     SCRAPE. 

"  I  send  you  a  drawing  of  the  design.  The  centre 
ornament,  marked  A,  will  yield  if  you  touch  the  fourth 
curve  of  the  arabasque  pattern.  YouvSescend  into  a 
wine  vault ;  the  rack  of  bottles  swings  on  hinges.  Behind 
it;  five  feet  from  the  corner,  each  way,  is  a  slab  of 
granite  cemented  into  the  wall ;  remove  that,  and  lying 
in  the  entrance  of  a  small  inner  vault  you  will  find  a 
Gold  Brick,  upon  which  the  males  of  your  house  have 
engraved  their  compact,  their  names,  and  those  of  their 
descendants.  All  are  dead  except  yourself.  The  trea- 
sure is  yours.  How  I  became  possessed  of  it,  the 
amount  expended,  and  a  solemn  renunciation,  you  will 
find  rudely  cut  on  the  lower  side  of  the  brick.  Take 
possession  of  this  wealth ;  no  one  will  dare  to  question 
your  right.  All  that  I  have  in  possession,  and  all  that 
I  can  restore,  is  herewith  forwarded.  If  you  can  only 
feel  the  joy  in  receiving  this  wealth  that  I  do  in  casting 
it  from  me,  the  day  that  you  read  this  will  be  a  happy 
one,  the  first  that  ever  resulted  from  this  hoarded  gold. 

"J^ELSON  THRASHER." 

Paul  read  the  letter  over  and  over  again.  The  con- 
tents seemed  unreal ;  but  for  the  clear  description  of 
the  Gold  Brick  he  would  not  have  given  it  credence. 
But  he  remembered  that  well.  The  night  when  the 
seething  metal  had  been  poured  into  its  mould,  every 
member  of  the  family  had  been  summoned  to  stand  by. 
The  scene  rose  vividly  before  him.  The  red  heat  of  the 
furnace  glaring  on  the  vault,  the  piles  of  gold  throwing 
back  its  light,  that  group  of  aristocratic  men  stooping 
one  after  another  to  engrave  a  name  on  the  dead  gold 
of  the  brick,  till  he,  the  youngest  and  the  last  was 
called  upon  to  take  the  graver  in  his  young  hand,  and 


OUT     OF     A     SCRAPE.  479 

Tinder  his  father's  direction,  record  his  name  on  the 
golden  record. 

Paul  had  not  understood  the  danger  which  prompted 
his  kinsmen  to  gather  up  their  treasures  and  make  this 
singular  record  on  the  brick,  but  the  storm  came  upon 
them  at  once. 

In  a  single  week  that  whole  household  had  been  swept 
away — father,  mother,  home.  Is  it  wonderful  that  the 
young  man  grew  pale,  and  shuddered,  when  Thrasher's 
letter  reminded  him  of  these  things  ? 

Paul  had  no  heart  to  return  to  Hose.  For  the  mo- 
ment he  thought  of  nothing  but  that  terrible  scene  which 
had  left  him  an  orphan.  He  walked  slowly  away,  and 
entering  the  house,  sought  the  minister's  study. 

Tom  Hutchins  went  back  to  the  spot  where  Rose  was 
standing. 

"  Miss  Rose,"  he  said,  shuffling  his  feet  in  the  grass, 
"  you  remember  when  I  gave  you  a  string  of  robins' 
eggs,  and  what  I  said  about  'em  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Rose,  blushing  quietly,  for  the  poor 
string  of  eggs  had  been  smashed  to  atoms  in  a  romping 
chase  with  Jube  years  ago. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Hutchins — I — I  hope  you  don't  want  them 
back  again." 

Tom  looked  rather  crestfallen,  colored  violently,  and 
relieved  his  right  foot  by  standing  heavily  on  the  left. 

"  No,  Miss  Rose,"  he  burst  out  at  length,  "  I  aint  go- 
ing to  ask  for  'em  back,  but — but  the  truth  is,  I  was  a 
scamp  for  giving  you  them  'ere  eggs ;  not  at  the  time, 
you  know,  but  arterwards,  when  I  kinder  forgot  you  and 
took  a  shine  to  another  gal.  There,  now,  it's  out,  and  I 
suppose  you'll  just  hate  and  despise  me  ...for  a  mean 
heart-breaker  all  the  rest  of  your  life.  But  I  could  not 


480  OUT     OF     A     SCRAPE. 

help  it,  consarn  me  if  I  could.  If  the  gal  hadn't  looked 
kinder  like  you,  in  the  way  of  curls,  and  been  a  match 
for  the  best  on  'em,  I  never  should  have  gin  in ;  but  it's 
done,  and  can't  be  undone,  without  you  insist  on  hold- 
ing me  to  that  bargain  when  I  give  the  eggs.  If  you 
do,  why  speak  out,  and  I'm  ready  to  stand  up  to  the 
rack,  fodder  or  no  fodder." 

Eose  did  not  laugh,  but  her  eyes  were  brimful  of  fun, 
and  her  lips  dimpled  threateningly. 

"  Don't — don't  cry ;  it  'ud  break  my  heart.  I  aint 
downright  engaged,  nor  nothing,  and  I  waited  to  see  if 
you'd  give  me  up  afore  that — but — but  if  you'd  just  as 
lives,  '  thar  is  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  come  out,' 
you  know;  still,  as  I  said,  if  you  didn't  seem  to  mind  it, 
j j » 

Rose  shook  with  the  rush  of  laughter  that  was  forbid- 
den to  her  lips,  but  she  felt  a  sort  of  respect  for  the 
honest  purpose  which  had  brought  the  youth  to  her 
presence,  and  answered  him  with  gentle  kindness  : 

"  Have  no  trouble  about  me,  Mr.  Hutchins — we  were 
only  children  then." 

"  True  enough — so  we  were." 

"You  were  very  kind  to  us,  and  I  can  never  for- 
get it." 

"Oh,  don't — don't,  Miss  Hose — you  make  me  feel 
what  a  scoundrel  I  was  ever  to  think  of  anybody  else." 

"  Ah,  but  it  was  impossible  to  help  it." 

"  Do  you  think  so  now — really  ?" 

"Indeed  I  do." 

"And  you  wont  hate  me  ?" 

"  Not  at  all." 

"  Nor  thi^k  me  fickle  ?" 

"  Oh,  children  are  always  fickle ;  but  we  meet  as 


THE     LONELY     HOUSE.  481 

grown  people,  now,  and  there  will  be  no  more  change. 
You  are  content,  and  so  am  I." 

"  In  downright  arnest  ?" 

"  In  downright  earnest." 

"  Miss  Rose." 

"Well." 

"  If  I  was  not  over  head  and  heels  in  love — well,  it's 
no  use  talking ;  but  there  aint  your  match  this  side 
creation,  except  her." 


CHAPTER  LXXIV. 

THE   LONELY  HOUSE. 

THAT  noble  mansion  had  changed  greatly.  The  beauty 
of  its  grounds  was  all  run  to  waste.  The  snowy  walls 
of  the  house  were  tinged  with  the  damp  of  many  winters, 
which  no  careful  hand  had  swept  away.  Rose  thickets 
had  grown  into  jungles.  The  honeysuckles  and  clematis 
vines  had  leaped  from  the  windows  and  clambered  rudely 
up  the  forest  trees.  Long  grass  waved  along  the  car- 
riage walks  and  tufted  the  gravel.  That  delicate  moss, 
which  seems  like  the  first  green  breath  of  decay,  was 
creeping  over  the  broad  marble  steps,  and  clothing  the 
stone  vases  with  gloomy  richness. 

It  was  very  lonely  and  quiet,  that  dreary  mansion,  a 
mournful  contrast  to  its  appearance  on  the  night  we 
saw  it  last,  in  pristine  freshness,  blazing  with  lights, 
resonant  with  music,  and  all  aglow  with  flowers. 

ftur  persons,  who  stood  in  the  wilderness  which  had 
30 


482  THE     LONELY     HOUSE. 

grown  around  it,  felt  this  desolation  with  infinite  mel- 
ancholy. 

"  "Was  this  my  mother's  house  ?"  whispered  Rose  Ma- 
son, sadly.  "  Oh !  Paul,  where  is  she  now  ?  Not  one 
word  from  her  in  all  these  years." 

"Hush,  my  child,"  said  the  minister;  "it  may  have 
been  that  trouble  has  fallen  upon  her  so  heavily  that, 
like  a  poor  worried  deer,  she  has  crept  away  to  hide 
her  wounds." 

"My  poor,  poor  mother,"  whispered  Rose  ;  "but  for 
that  man,  how  happy  we  might  all  be  now." 

"Be  patient,  my  child, be  patient." 

"  How  can  I  be  patient,  knowing  that  she  lives — at 
least,  feeling  the  mournful  hope — and  yet  with  no  cer- 
tainty ?  How  can  I  be  patient,  when  my  father  is  away 
where  I  cannot  see  him,  wandering  from  country  to 
country,  trying  to  forget  his  wrongs — trying,  in  vain,  to 
forget  her  ?" 

The  minister  looked  troubled.  This  rebellion  in  his 
spoiled  pet,  wounded  him  like  a  reproach.  He  felt  how 
deep  were  her  causes  for  regret,  and  left  the  anguish  to 
exhaust  itself. 

"  There  must  be  some  one  at  the  house  who  will  know 
where  she  is  living.  The  mansion  is  evidently  inhabited. 
Let  us  go  forward  and  inquire.  We  are  legally  author- 
ized to  enter,"  said  Paul. 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  the  minister,  looking  at  a  strange 
man  who  was  walking  down  the  carriage  street  with 
Jube,  "  here  comes  our  authority ;  but  let  us  use  it  with 
delicacy ;  soft  words  are  better  than  warrants  ;  by  them 
our  Rose  may  gain  some  knowledge  of  her  mother." 

The  group  moved  forward ;  that  is,  Paul,  the  minister, 
and  Rose,  leaving  the  stranger  and  Jube  in  the  groumls. 


THE     LONELY     HOUSE.  483 

The  broad  steps  had  a  disused  look,  as  if  foot-prints 
wez-e  seldom  left  upon  them ;  the  huge  knocker  was  dim, 
and  grated  harshly  as  the  minister  lifted  it.  When  it 
fell,  the  noise  struck  them  with  a  shock,  its  reverbera- 
tions sounded  so  startling.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
any  one  came  to  the  door ;  but  at  last  it  opened,  and  an 
ill-dressed,  unshaven  man  looked  out  with  unwelcoming 
eyes. 

"  Do  you  want  any  thing?"  he  said,  curtly;  "nobody 
comes  to  this  door.  We  never  see  company." 

"  But  we  wish  to  enter  the  house,  and  have  business 
which  cannot  be  put  off,"  said  Paul. 

"  Who  is  it  you  want  to  see  ?" 

"Any  one  who  has  authority  to  admit  us  to  an  exam- 
ination of  one  of  the  rooms." 

"  There  is  no  such  person  here." 

The  answer  was  brusque  enough,  like  that  which  the 
keeper  of  a  prison  gives  to  troublesome  visitors. 

"  Let  us  see  your  master,  if  you  please,"  said  the 
minister,  blandly. 

"  I  have  no  master  1" 

"Nor  mistress?" 

"  No,  nor  mistress.     I  am  her  master  !" 

Rose  started,  and  looked  mournfully  at  Paul. 

"  What  is  the  lady's  name  ?"  she  inquired. 

"  She  has  fifty  names.  To-day  I  believe  she  is  the 
Empress  of  Russia." 

"  But  she  has  a  name  ?" 

"  Not  for  strangers.  If  you  have  any  business  here 
but  to  ask  questions  let  me  hear  what  it  is ;  no  one  else 
will  get  a  say  in  the  matter,  I  can  tell  you." 

Paul  beckoned  to  the  man  who  lingered  in  the  shrub- 
bery. He  came  up  and  held  a  few  words  of  conversation 


484  THE     LONELY     HOUSE. 

with  the  servant,  who  seemed  greatly  disturbed,  and  at 
once  attempted  to  close  the  door  forcibly.  The  officer 
opposed  him,  and,  placing  a  paper  in  his  hands,  bade 
him  make  way. 

He  read  the  paper  with  a  bewildered  look,  which 
changed  to  something  like  consternation  in  the  end. 
He  flung  the  door  wide  open,  and,  retreating  down  the 
entrance-hall,  unlocked  a  door  which  led  to  the  south 
wing. 

"  You  will  find  the  office  in  yonder,"  he  said,  pointing 
through  the  door.  "  I  don't  know  what  condition  it  is 
in,  for  no  one  has  entered  it,  that  I  know  of,  for  years." 

The  party  passed  in,  all  except  Rose,  who  remained 
to  question  the  man.  But  her  distress  was  so  great 
that  it  took  away  her  voice. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  you  want  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  tone 
of  kindness,  for  the  agitation  in  her  lovely  face  impressed 
even  him. 

"  Tell  me  her  name.     The  lady  of  the  house,  I  mean." 

"And  what  good  if  I  do  ?  She's  nobody  now — that 
is  to  any  one  but  us.  What  on  earth  is  her  name"  to 
you?" 

"  I  think — I  fear — ah,  sir,  she  may  be  my  own  mother." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"Mason." 

"  That  is  not  her  name,  anyhow ;  but  the  other 
name — is  it  Rose?" 

"  Yes,  yes — Rose  1" 

"  Not  Rose  Nelson  ?" 

"No,  no!" 

"  It's  of  no  use  then :  she's  nothing  to  yon." 

"  Oh,  if  you  would  but  let  me  speak  with  her !  only 
look  on  her  face  !"  pleaded  the  poor  girl,  wild  with  the 
hopes  his  questions  had  raised. 


THE     LONELY     HOUSE. 

"  I  could  not  do  it.  It  is  against  the  doctor's  orders. 
Company  is  worse  than  any  thing." 

"  Is  she  ill  ?" 

He  now  looked  on  her  with  contemptuous  astonish- 
ment. 

"  You  call  yourself  her  daughter,  and  don't  know 
that?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  this  is  cruel !  I  have  not  had  a  letter  or 
heard  from  her  in  nearly  seven  years !  I  never  knew 
that  this  had  been  her  home  till  within  a  week ;  and  now 
you  will  not  let  me  even  look  at  her !" 

The  poor  girl  began  to  sob  and  wring  her  hands. 
The  idea  that  she  was  so  close  by  her  mother,  whom  she 
was  forbidden  to  look  upon,  overwhelmed  her  with 
anguish. 

The  man  seemed  touched.  "Wait  a  moment,"  he 
said,  "  I  will  talk  with  Mrs.  Brown  about  it.  I  command 
the  house,  but  she  has  charge  of  the  lady." 

After  this  concession,  the  man  went  away,  leaving 
Rose  seated  upon  one  of  the  hall  chairs,  breathless  and 
anxious,  for  every  moment  convinced  her  more  and 
more  that  she  was  in  the  house  with  her  mother. 

The  man  was  absent  some  time.  Suspense  became 
intolerable  to  that  young  heart.  She  arose  and  walked 
the  hall,  but  the  noise  of  her  own  footsteps  became 
irksome,  as  it  prevented  her  listening  to  the  first  sound 
of  his  approach.  She  stood  still  and  held  her  breath. 
Would  he  never  return?  What  if  he  had  seemed  to 
relent  only  to  escape  her  importunity?  She  started. 
Yes,  yes — there  was  a  sound — a  footstep — lighter  than 
his,  though — a  woman's  footstep,  accompanied  with  the 
rustle  of  silk  and  a  perfume  that  penetrated  pleasantly 
to  her  senses,  a  perfume  that  she  recognized,  and  grew 
faint  from  the  consciousness. 


THE    MANIAC'S    TOILET. 

Trembling  in  all  her  limbs,  she  stood  still,  with  her 
eyes  penetrating  the  distance.  There  was  a  perpetual 
twilight  in  that  house.  The  blinds  were  all  closed,  and 
in  some  places  heavy  shutters  made  the  darkness  com- 
plete. Thus  the  figure  which  advanced  upon  Rose, 
from  what  seemed  a  large  drawing-room,  moved  vaguely 
through  the  dusk  of  the  dwelling.  It  was  a  lady  in 
full  dress,  sweeping  through  the  rooms  in  quick  haste, 
and  huddling  something  to  her  bosom. 


CHAPTER    LXXV. 

THE  MANIAC'S  TOILET. 

ROSE  MASON  caught  her  breath.  It  was  her  mother. 
She  knew  the  face,  and  that  proud,  sweeping  walk. 
Wild  as  the  face  was — rapid  as  the  walk  had  become — 
she  could  not  mistake  them. 

The  woman  saw  her  standing  in  the  hall,  and  came 
eagerly  forward. 

"  I  have  found  them — I  have  found  them,"  she  cried, 
breathlessly.  "  What  is  an  empress  without  her  jewels  ? 
They  don't  understand  these  things — but  you,  my  maid 
of  honor,  know  better.  They  told  me  that  you  and  all 
the  court  would  keep  away.  That  was  to  persuade  me 
from  wearing  these  ;  but  I  have  got  them  safe — come, 
come,  we  must  make  haste,  or  force  the  people  to  wait, 
which  should  never  be.  My  hair  is  to  be  braided  yet — 
come  this  way — this  way." 

Rose  followed  her,  pale  as  death,  heart-stricken  from 


THE   MANIAC'S   TOILET.  487 

that  moment.  The  woman  entered  the  little  breakfast 
room,  where  we  have  seen  her  before.  It  was  not  much 
changed ;  the  sumptuous  appointments  had  faded  some- 
what by  time,  but  they  retained  all  their  elegance.  In 
spite  of  her  agitation,  "Rose  remarked  that  behind  the 
rich  window  draperies  were  immovable  blinds  of  iron, 
deceptive,  but  firm  as  prison  bars.  Through  the  lattices 
of  these  blinds,  sufficient  light  came  to  fill  the  room,  and 
now  Rose  saw  her  mother  clearly.  Alas !  the  change  ! 
That  beautiful  face  was  worn  and  troubled  ;  the  splendid 
eyes  were  full  of  eager  fire ;  the  mouth  was  always  in 
motion ;  and  the  whole  aspect  vigilant,  as  if  her  fears 
Avere  eternally  upon  the  watch. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  throwing  herself  into  an  easy  chair, 
and  arranging  the  folds  of  a  purple  brocade  dress,  with 
an  exaggeration  of  her  old,  queenly  grace,  after  she  had 
placed  the  heavy  bronze  box,  which  she  had  carried,  on 
an  ottoman  by  her  side,  "  come,  put  them  on  quick,  be- 
fore they  break  up  my  toilet — go  to  work — go  to  work." 

With  eager  wildness,  she  snatched  the  comb  from  her 
hair  and  shook  its  long  tresses  over  her  shoulders. 
Rose  saw  that  there  was  scarcely  a  dark  thread  in  the 
mass,  and  her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"  What  are  you  crying  for  ?"  asked  her  mother,  sharply. 
"  It  is  only  powdered  pearls  that  my  people  dust  over 
my  hair  morning  and  night !  Cleopatra,  she  was  queen 
of  Egypt,  you  know,  and  beautiful  as  I  am — she  drank 
her  pearls  in  vinegar ;  I  grind  mine  !  Now  braid  away  1 
braid  away!" 

Rose  took  the  heavy  tresses  which  the  woman  tossed 
into  her  hands,  and,  for  a  moment,  her  trembling  fingers 
wandered  among  them,  in  vague  efforts  at  obedience, 
but  all  at  once  her  strength  gave  way,  and  dropping 
into  a  chair,  she  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 


488  THE    MANIAC'S   TOILET. 

Her  mother  started  up  fiercely,  coiled  the  hair  around 
her  head  in  a  rude  crown,  and  dashed  the  lid  of  the 
bronze  box  open.  Rose  knew  the  gleam  of  those  jewels, 
and  shuddered.  The  woman  tore  the  diamonds  from 
their  satin  cushions,  and  began  U>  huddle  them  in  masses 
upon  her  arms  and  bosom.  She  then  proceeded  to 
tangle  them  in  her  gray  hair,  looking  at  her  daughter 
with  fierce  reproach  all  the  time. 

Rose  made  a  motion  to  arise — her  mother  saw  it,  and 
shut  the  box  suddenly. 

"  Don't  touch  them !  don't  dare  to  touch  them !  Do 
you  know  how  much  they  cost?" 

The  young  girl  retreated,  pale  and  trembling. 

"  I  bought  them,"  cried  the  mother,  in  a  hoarse  whis- 
per, "  with  my  soul  and  body — soul  and  body !  Under- 
stand that !  But  the  fiend  cheated  me,  and  kept  back 
the  price  ! — treasures !  gold  !  gold !  gold  !  He  hid  it  1 
but  I  kept  these  1  They  were  the  first  price  !  It  was 
putting  them  here  where  my  little  Rose  used  to  sleep ! 
and  here  where  they  burn  like  hot  coals — that  brought 
Mason  back  with  those  eyes " 

The  woman  laid  a  hand  upon  her  bosom,  and  swept  it 
across  her  forehead  as  she  spoke,  while  poor  Rose  began 
to  weep  bitterly,  as  she  heard  her  own  sweet  name  ut- 
tered, for  the  first  time  in  years,  by  those  insane  lips. 

"  Xo  wonder  you  cry,"  said  the  woman.  "  It's  enough 
to  break  one's  heart !  Loads  and  loads  of  money  hid 
away,  and  no  finding  it !  I've  searched,  and  searched, 
and  searched ;  but  it's  of  no  use !  They  lock  the  door 
and  chain  the  windows ;  but  there  is  a  place !" 

She  paused,  drew  close  to  Rose,  and  bending  downr 
whispered  in  her  ear  : 

"  The  south  wing ;  he  was  always  there ;  always 
brooding  over  something  in  that  room  with  one  door 


THE    MANIAC'S    TOILET.  489 

and  iron  shutters.  Once  I  saw  a  hole  in  the  floor — an 
open  half-moon — -just  under  my  feet.  It  closed  up,  and 
I  forgot  it  till  Mason  came,  and  they  began  to  lock  the 
doors ;  then  I  thought  and  thought,  such  fiery  hot 
thoughts,  and  up  came  that  open  half-moon  from  the 
marble  floor!  Oh,  if  I  could  but  get  there!  Say, 
couldn't  you  draw  the  bolts?  They  hurt  my  hands! 
they  hurt  my  hands  1" 

j .  The  poor  creature  shook  her  head,  and  wrung  her 
hands,  with  tears  and  moans,  piteous  to  hear. 

Rose  took  the  poor  struggling  hands  in  hers. 

"Oh,  mother!  mother!"  she  cried  out. 

The  woman  stopped  wringing  her  hands,  and  bent  her 
wild  eyes  on  the  young  girl's  face. 

"  Rose  had  sweet  eyes — my  little  Rose.  She  was  so 
pretty — handsome  almost  as  her  mother.  But  what  is 
the  use  of  beauty  if  it  cannot  bring  gold  from  its  hiding- 
places  ?  I  like  that  face ;  there  are  emeralds  and  sapphires 
in  the  box.  Besides,  I  have  lovely  pink  coral  that  the 
queen  of  Naples  gave  me  on  my  coronation.  You  shall 
wear  them  sometimes,  for  I  love  you  for  looking  like 
little  Rose.  There,  you  may  kiss  my  hand." 

Rose  took  the  hand,  on  which  she  pressed  her  quiv- 
ering lips. 

"  Don't  be  afraid  of  me — imperial  women  are  alwaj^s 
gracious.  You  shall  stay  at  the  court.  Only  one  thing  I 
must  tell  you.  That  woman,  Brown,  shall  be  exiled  to 
Siberia — that  is  where  I  get  the  ermine  for  my  mantles, 
you  know ;  but  cold,  oh,  so  cold  !  Good  enough  for  her, 
though.  Come  close  and  I  will  tell  you  something. 
She  ties  my  arms — she  straps  me  down  in  bed — the  false 
traitoress !  But  she  shall  go,  and  I  will  give  you  her 
place.  Only  don't  speak  loud,  she  might  hear  us.  Hush 
—hush— hist !" 


4:90  THE    MANIAC'S    TOILET. 

A  slight  noise  broke  the  stillness  of  the  house,  and 
hushed  the  maniac's  whispers.  Putting  a  finger  to  her 
lips  she  moved  into  the  hall  on  tiptoe.  The  door  lead- 
ing to  the  sonth  wing  was  open.  With  a  cry  that 
brought  an  echo  of  affright  from  her  child,  she  darted 
through  and  rushed  toward  the  room  where  Thrasher 
had  been  confined  that  night — her  garments  fluttering 
wildly,  and  the  jewels  with  their  innumerable  pendants 
tinkling  against  each  other  in  her  hair  and  on  her 
bosom. 

Rose  followed,  striving  to  cry  out,  but  terror  deprived 
her  of  the  power. 

The  room  was  dark,  for  the  bolts  of  those  shutters 
had  rusted  in  their  sockets — dark,  except  a  circle  of  red 
light  that  lay  like  a  fiery  wheel  in  the  centre  of  the 
room.  Ellen  Mason  rushed  toward  this  opening,  and 
swooping  down  upon  her  knees,  like  an  evil-omened  bird 
greedy  for  prey,  looked  down  into  the  vault  beneath. 
She  saw  the  glitter  of  gold  heaped  on  the  stone  floor, 
with  a  blaze  of  lamp  light  pouring  over  it.  Heard  the 
clink  as  it  was  drawn  from  the  inner  vault.  She  saw 
several  persons  busy  with  the  gold  piling  it  in  heaps. 
The  most  prominent  figure  was  a  young  man  with  jet 
black  hair  and  eyes  full  of  trouble,  examining  a  block 
of  gold  which  lay  on  the  top  of  that  glittering  heap. 

With  a  shriek  from  which  the  words,  "  It  is  mine — • 
mine — all  mine !"  broke  fiercely  out,  the  woman  half 
rose,  flung  out  her  arms,  and  made  a  plunge.  Rose 
Mason  came  up  that  instant  and  grasped  desperately  at 
her  dress.  A  fragment  of  the  old  brocade  was  left  in 
her  hand — a  low,  dull  sound,  a  simultaneous  shriek 
of  dismay  from  the  people  in  the  vault,  and  all  was  still 
as  death. 


THE    DOCTOK'S    RIDE.  491 

Rose  had  fallen  with  her  face  to  the  floor,  white  as  the 
marble  on  which  she  lay,  and  almost  as  lifeless. 

Paul,  disturbed  by  the  noise  overhead,  had  retreated 
from  the  treasures,  dropped  the  brick,  and  was  looking 
Tip  when  that  unhappy  woman  plunged  downward  upon 
the  gold.  Her  hands  were  extended,  and  made  one 
grasp  into  the  heap.  The  old  coins  rattled  down  to  the 
pavement — her  temple  struck  a  corner  of  the  Gold 
Brick,  and  a  cluster  of  diamonds  which  she  had  fastened 
there  was  driven  through  deep  into  the  brain.  She 
struggled  a  little,  gasped  once  or  twice,  stretched  her 
limbs  out  upon  the  treasure,  and  died  there. 


CHAPTER    LXXVL 

THE  DOCTOR'S  RIDE. 

IF  the  doctor  was  an  eccentric  man,  he  could  be,  when 
the  occasion  demanded  it,  both  kind  and  thoughtful. 
More  than  once  during  Katharine's  confinement  he  had 
ridden  far  beyond  his  circuit,  and  visited  her  in  that 
lonely  prison.  ]S"o  one  was  ever  made  aware  of  the 
fact,  and  he  alone,  of  all  that  neighborhood,  with  one 
exception,  was  informed  that  Nelson  Thrasher  was  also 
an  inmate  of  the  same  prison.  From  the  good  old 
people  it  had  been  kept  with  religious  delicacy.  They 
knew  that  Katharine  had  a  right  to  her  freedom,  and 
could  now  return  home  at  pleasure ;  but  she  had  written 
to  ask  more  time.  Duties,  she  said,  to  her  fellow- 
prisoners  kept  her  among  them  yet  a  little  longer.  She 


492  THE    DOCTOR'S    RIDE. 

was  free  to  depart,  but  the  hospital  needed  her,  and 
with  the  warden's  consent  she  remained  in  voluntary 
service,  teaching  those  whom  she  would  soon  leave 
behind  how  to  tend  and  comfort  the  sick  as  she  had 
done.  This  was  an  appeal  that  the  old  people  could 
understand,  so  the  lone  mother  submitted  quietly  to  a 
few  more  months  of  solitude,  and  the  Thrashers  said  to 
each  other : 

"Who  knows  but  Nelson  may  come  back  before 
then?" 

But  time  creeps  on,  even  in  a  prison,  and  at  last 
Thrasher  was  set  free.  The  doctor  knew  the  time,  and 
had  the  harness  put  on  his  old  friend  that  morning  at 
an  early  hour.  The  horse  did  not  exactly  like  this  pro- 
ceeding. He  objected  to  any  long  ride  without  the 
saddle-bags.  Indeed,  he  did  not  feel  exactly  like  a  re- 
spectable doctor's  horse  without  that  appendage,  and 
remonstrated  against  the  indignity  of  reins,  thills,  and 
whiffle-trees,  with  vigorous  shakes  of  the  head,  and  even 
a  vicious  kick  or  two.  But  the  doctor  came  out  and 
expostulated  with  him  after  his  own  quaint  fashion,  and 
directly  the  two  went  off  in  harmony,  one  at  each  end 
of  the  reins. 

For  two  whole  days  the  sick  of  that  neighborhood  for 
fifteen  miles  around  took  care  of  themselves,  and  grum- 
bled accordingly. 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day,  there  was  a  terri- 
ble rumbling  of  loose  wheels  along  the  Derby  turnpike, 
for  the  brown  horse  had  caught  sisrht  of  his  home,  and 

O  O  ' 

instantly  went  off  in  a  rickety  series  of  leaps  that 
almost  tossed  the  doctor  from  his  seat  in  front  of  the 
wagon. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  back  seat, 
where  a  man  and  woman  were  seated,  with  the  light  of 


THE    DOCTOR'S   RIDE.  493 

a  crescent  moon  lying  tenderly  on  their  faces.  "  It's  his 
•way  when  things  go  to  suit  him.  The  sight  of  home 
alwaj^s  sets  him  off." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  afraid,"  said  a  sweet  female  voice 
"  It's  a  long  time  since  either  of  us  have  known  what 
fear  was.  Isn't  it,  Nelson  ?" 

The  man  thus  addressed  clasped  the  little  hand  which 
stole  into  his  with  tender  force,  but  said  nothing.  His 
heart  was  too  full.  The  trial  that  lay  before  him  at 
the  end  of  that  ride  might  have  taxed  the  courage  of 
any  man. 

They  rode  on  to  the  doctor's  house.  He  got  out  of 
the  wagon,  removed  the  temporary  seat  which  had  ac- 
commodated him  from  Simsbury,  and  held  a  silent 
counsel  with  his  horse,  patting  the  old  fellow  on  the 
neck,  and  using  all  the  conciliatory  blandishments  for 
deluding  horseflesh  into  obedience,  which  have  since 
been  dignified  into  a  science. 

"There  now,  get  along,"  he  said,  moving  toward  the 
gate.  "  He'll  go  ahead  without  balking.  No  need  of  a 
whip.  The  old  chap  wont  stand  that  from  anybody 
but  me.  Drive  on,  and  God  be  with  you." 

The  strange  man  leaned  heavily  on  his  crutches,  and 
gently  lifted  his  hat  as  he  uttered  these  words.  The 
soft  moonlight  fell  upon  his  head,  and  a  grander  one 
seldom  bared  itself  in  reverence  to  a  noble  sentiment. 

As  the  doctor  wheeled  around  he  saw  the  members 
of  his  family  coming  out  to  welcome  him  home.  His 
manner  changed  at  once.  Inwardly  delighted  with 
their  prompt  affection  he  put  the  children  aside  with 
good-natured  rebukes  of  their  clamorous  joy,  and  stalk- 
ing into  the  room,  which  served  as  an  office,  sunk  quietly 
into  a  leathern  easy  chair,  and  desired  the  eldest  boy  to 
hand  down  his  fiddle. 


494  THE   DOCTOR'S   RIDE. 

The  boy  took  an  old  violin  from  its  place  on  the  wall 
and  gave  it  into  his  father's  hand.  The  doctor  drew  a 
lump  of  rosin  from  his  pocket,  rasped  the  bow  with  it 
for  a  full  minute,  then  lifting  the  instrument  to  his 
shoulder  began  to  play;  directly  the  children  came 
rushing  in  from  the  hall  and  kitchen,  astonished,  for 
some  of  the  wildest  and  most  invigorating  music  heard 
for  many  a  day,  rang  out  from  the  dark  old  violin,  filling 
the  whole  house  with  cheerfulness. 

The  doctor's  wife — a  fine  woman,  of  the  Connecticut 
stamp — came  softly  into  the  room  with  word  that  his 
supper  was  on  the  table  ;  but  he  only  answered  with  a 
dash  at  Yankee  Doodle,  and  revelled  in  it  with  a  zest 
ten  thousand  suppers  could  not  have  excited.  The 
good  housewife  never  urged  her  husband  to  any  thing  ; 
she  knew  the  folly  of  that  too  well ;  so  she  sat  down 
pleasantly  and  listened  to  his  music.  It  was  well  worth 
the  trouble,  for  the  doctor  threw  off  a  world  of  generous 
thankfulness  in  those  erratic  notes,  and  when  music 
comes  from  the  soul  it  is  always  good.  She  asked  no 
questions,  but  knew  very  well  that  something  satisfac- 
tory had  happened  to  her  husband,  for  he  always 
expressed  these  feelings  through  his  violin. 

Meantime  the  two  travellers  kept  on  up  the  turnpike. 
They  passed  the  rock  spring,  which  sparkled  out  from 
the  shadows  cast  over  it  from  the  dogwood  thickets ; 
all  cut  up  root  and  branch  in  these  dajTs,  and  moved 
slowly  over  the  old  bridge.  They  could  see  the  white 
spire  of  the  Episcopal  church,  rising  into  the  moonlight 
from  the  high  bank  opposite,  and,  with  the  sight,  Kath- 
arine's heart  melted  within  her.  She  lifted  her  eyes  to 
Thrasher ;  the  moonlight  lay  full  upon  his  face.  It 
was  pale  and  troubled.  In  that  church  he  had  been 
baptized. 


THE    DOCTOR'S    BIDE.  495 

Katharine  took  his  hand  with  touching  gentleness, 
and  pressed  it  to  her  lips.  Her  face  was  so  heavenly 
that  he  bent  down  and  kissed  it,  leaving  a  heavy  tear 
on  her  cheek,  which  she  would  not  have  wiped  away 
for  the  world. 

"Ah,  Nelson !"  she  said,  clasping  her  hands  and 
lifting  her  eyes  from  the  church  spire  to  the  heavens, 
which  it  seemed  to  penetrate — "  how  plainly  I  see  the 
great  goodness  of  God  in  all  that  has  happened.  At 
first  it  was  very  dark,  and  I  struggled  against  the 
cruelty  of  that  arrest,  and  the  unjust  sentence  which 
branded  me  before  the  world.  I  forgot  that  the  Son  of 
God  was  thus  assailed,  thus  branded  !  and  worse  still, 
put  to  death,  that  Christianity  might  be  our  inheritance. 
I  did  not  know  what  great  happiness  might  spring  out 
of  this  degradation ;  how  holy  a  work  lay  waiting  for 
me  in  that  prison !" 

"  My  poor  girl,  it  was  a  terrible  life  for  you.  Can 
God  forgive  me  for  bringing  you  there  ?" 

"  Nelson,  this  is  wrong — it  is  unkind !  It  was  to  be  ; 
God  knew  what  was  best,  and  sent  me  in  the  path  of  a 
great  duty  against  my  will,  or  I  never  should  have 
found  it.  He  had  compassion  on  those  poor  creatures 
so  barbarously  cut  off  from  every  thing  sweet  and  good 
in  life.  They  were  perishing  or  turning  to  demons  for 
the  want  of  a  little  care,  a  few  kind  words,  a  smile  of 
pity  now  and  then.  I  was  poor  as  poor  could  be,  help- 
less as  a  child,  but  these  things  I  could  give  them ;  so 
he  thought  it  best  that  I  should  go. 

"  I  was  rebellious  at  first,  Nelson,  and  wondered  how 
it  could  be  that  I,  an  innocent  woman,  should  suffer 
among  the  guilty.  I  was  so  young,  so  weak,  and 
miserably  selfish.  Besides,  I  hoped  so  fondly  that  you 


496  THE    DOCTOR'S   RIDE. 

would  come  back  and  save  me.  But  they  were  dragging 
me  away  from  all  possibility  of  seeing  you." 

"  My  poor  Katharine  I" 

"  Oh,  it  was  hard  1  it  was  hard !"  she  said,  laying 
her  forehead  on  his  shoulder;  "for  I  thought  you 
loved  me  !  I  thought  you  loved  me !" 

He  drew  her  head  close  to  his  bosom,  but  said 
nothing ;  self-reproach  held  his  heart  in  silence. 

"  With  this  hope  of  seeing  you  again,  rising  above 
every  thing,  it  was  a  cruel  thought  that  you  might  come 
home  and  find  me  there,  think  perhaps  that  I  had 
harmed  your  child." 

"No,  Katharine — no,  I  never  could  have  believed 
that.  In  my  most  insane  moments  I  knew  and  felt 
how  good  you  were." 

"  But  these  thoughts  would  come  to  me  in  my  prison, 
Nelson ;  I  could  not  help  that.  So  I  struggled  against 
that  hard  fate  and  wanted  to  die.  The  people  were 
wrong  and  harsh  with  me,  the  law  was  wrong,  the 
judges  were  wrong,  but  God  was  right." 

"  I — I  was  the  most  cruel  of  all,"  said  Thrasher,  in 
a  low,  pained  voice. 

"  Still  it  was  all  needful.  What  else  would  have  won 
me  from  home  to  live  among  those  poor  convicts,  to  help 
them  and  feel  for  them,  till  a  beautiful  happiness  sprang 
up  to  me  out  of  those  dreary  mines.  Then,  then,"  she 
added,  with  a  gush  of  tender  gratitude,  "just  as  I  had 
learned  to  live  and  endure  for  others,  knowing  that 
God's  wisdom  was  higher  than  man's  justice,  you  came, 
my  husband,  and  I  had  the  power  to  help  you.  I  so 
weak,  and  you  so  strong !  From  that  day  I  knew  how 
great  a  blessing  had  been  won  for  me,  out  of  what 
seemed  the  deadly  ruin  of  a  life.  In  that  black  depth 
I  found  the  heart  of  my  husband." 


THE    DOCTOR'S    RIDE.  497 

"  Oh,  a  worthless,  wicked  heart,  Katharine  !" 

"But  it  was  mine — all  mine  !" 

He  girded  her  closer  with  his  arm,  and  that  was 
answer  enough. 

"  Then  you  began  to  trust  me,  and  believe  in  me, 
Nelson ;  as  a  strong  man  lets  some  little  child  lead  him, 
because  of  its  very  helplessness ;  you  listened  to  me 
and  loved  me — for  you  do  love  me,  Nelson !" 

"  The  God  you  worship  so  beautifully,  Katharine, 
only  knows  how  much  I  love  yon !" 

"  Oh,  we  shall  be  very  happy  I"  answered  the  young 
woman,  bowing  her  head,  while  a  soft  rain  of  tears 
fell  down  her  cheeks.  "  Every  soul  in  the  prison  loved 
us.  God  has  forgiven  us  !" 

"  Not  us,  Katharine !  It  is  I  that  have  need  of  His 
pardon ;  not  you,  my  wife  !" 

But  in  her  sweet  humility  she  would  not  have  it  so, 
and  protested  against  it.  "  No,  no ;  I  was  untamed, 
impatient,  disobedient  to  my  mother.  In  a  woman  these 
are  great  sins.  We  are  equal  there  as  in  the  mercies 
which  fall  around  us  now." 

Thrasher  was  a  man  of  few  words,  but  his  wife  under- 
stood this,  and  saw,  by  the  emotion  in  his  face,  how 
deeply  his  spirit  was  touched. 

They  fell  into  silence  after  this,  and  rode  on  slowly, 
thinking  of  those  they  were  about  to  meet.  The  wagon 
rolled  heavily  up  Falls  Hill,  turned  at  the  old  willow 
tree,  and  passed  up  the  Bungy  road  approaching  the  old 
homestead. 

They  came  to  Mrs.  Allen's  house  first.  It  was  dark 
and  still  as  the  grave.  Why  was  this  ?  The  hour  did 
not  warrant  such  dreary  darkness,  such  utter  solitude. 

Katharine,  who  was  leaning  eagerly  forward,  fell 
31 


498          THE   CONVICT'S    RETURN. 

back  with  a  heavy  sigh.  Was  her  mother  dead  ?  Had 
sorrow  broken  her  heart  at  last  ?  "Was  it  a  tomb  to 
which  she  had  come,  after  eight  long  years  of  imprison- 
ment ? 

They  left  the  wagon,  and  knocked  at  the  door.  There 
was  no  footstep  within.  No  answering  voice.  Not  even 
a  gleam  of  fire  light  to  speak  of  an  existing  household. 

They  returned  to  the  wagon  without  speaking,  and 
drove  slowly  over  the  hill ;  very  slowly,  for  that  empty 
house  had  filled  them  with  painful  forebodings. 

From  the  butternut  tree  they  got  a  first  sight  of  the 
old  homestead.  From  the  sitting  room  window  a  steady 
light  was  burning,  which  fell  upon  a  great  snowball 
bush,  turning  the  huge  white  blossoms  that  covered  it 
into  globes  of  gold.  "  They  are  alive  ;  they  are  at 
home  !"  said  Thrasher.  "  God  be  thanked  !" 


CHAPTER  LXXVII. 
THE  CONVICT'S  RETURN. 

OLD  Mr.  Thrasher  and  his  wife  sat  together  that  night 
in  the  very  room  in  which  they  had  been  blessed  by  the 
first  return  of  their  son.  He  had  been  away  weary, 
weary  years  now,  and  not  a  word  of  tidings  had  ever 
reached  them.  But  the  old  hope  was  there.  The  faith 
which  nothing  but  a  certainty  of  his  death  could  destroy. 
There  they  sat,  as  on  that  night,  waiting  for  him,  not 
with  absolute  hope,  but  from  that  tender  unbelief  which 
will  not  give  up  a  loved  one. 

This  evening  they  were  not  alone.  An  old  woman, 
Very  thin  and  withered,  but  with  a  certain  hard  stateli- 


THE    CONVICT'S   RETURN.          499 

ness  hanging  around  her,  sat  near  the  hearth.  A  hood 
and  shawl,  lying  on  the  table  near  the  door,  proved  that 
she  had  only  come  in  for  a  brief  visit.  There  was  not 
much  conversation  among  them.  Mrs.  Allen  had  just 
received  a  letter  from  her  son,  who  had  shipped  in  the 
India  trade  from  Liverpool,  and  had  not  been  home  for 
years.  Now  he  was  on  a  return  voyage,  and  having 
saved  money  enough,  was  resolved  to  leave  the  sea  and 
take  to  farming  with  his  mother. 

It  was  a  kind  letter,  and  spoke  most  affectionately 
of  the  young  sister  who  was,  as  he  thought,  pining  to 
death  in  the  prison  mines  at  Simsbury. 

The  old  man  put  on  his  spectacles  and  read  the  letter 
aloud.  Mrs.  Allen  listened  with  interest,  as  if  she  had 
not  already  got  the  contents  by  heart.  Old  Mrs.  Thrasher 
stopped  short  in  her  knitting,  and  sighed  heavily.  What 
a  comfort  it  was  to  get  a  letter  from  one's  son !  Would 
she  ever  see  another  from  Nelson  ?  Just  then  the  sound 
of  wagon  wheels  coming  over  the  hill  reached  them.  He 
stopped  reading  and  listened ;  why,  no  one  could  tell, 
for  wagons  passed  that  road  every  half  hour  in  the 
twenty-four.  As  the  wagon  approached,  these  three  old 
people  looked  at  each  other  with  vague  bewilderment, 
and  listened  like  persons  in  expectation.  It  stopped 
before  the  house.  The  gate  opened.  Mrs.  Thrasher 
leaned  forward,  listening.  "  It  is  his  step !" 

That  good  woman  had  said  exactly  these  same  words 
years  before,  when  some  brown  threads  darkened  her 
hair,  which  was  white  as  snow  now. 

The  old  man  now  arose,  so  did  Mrs.  Allen,  for  she 
heard  a  step  beyond  that  which  sounded  on  the  gravel 
walk — something  so  light  that  it  could  have  reached  no 
intelligence  save  the  ever-watchful  love  of  a  mother. 

They  all  stood  and  listened — no  one  of  them  had 


500         THE    CONVICT'S   RETURN. 

strength  enough  to  move.  The  door  was  opened — those 
steps  advanced  up  the  entry  way,  and  paused  there, 
Then  a  hand,  which  shook  the  latch  it  touched,  opened 
the  door,  and  the  old  people  saw  their  son,  and  behind 
him,  the  sweet,  pale  face  of  Katharine,  his  wife.  The 
lamp  light  lay  full  upon  them,  but  the  old  people  were 
blinded  by  a  sweet  rush  of  love  that  made  their  hearts 
swell  again,  and  could  not  see  distinctly.  The  old  man 
went  forward. 

"  My  son,  my  son !" 

They  were  strong  men,  this  father  and  son,  but  they 
fell  into  each  other's  arms  and  wept  like  children. 

Then  the  old  man  gave  way  to  his  wife,  and  taking 
Katharine  from  her  mother's  bosom,  laid  both  hands  on 
her  head  and  blessed  her. 

After  the  first  outgush  of  welcome,  Kelson  Thrasher 
turned  to  his  wife. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  "  it  is  this  woman,  my  wife,  whom 
you  must  thank — she  who  suffered  innocently,  that  I 
might  be  given  back  to  my  home.  It  was  for  your  son 
she  waited  after  they  had  set  her  free,  for  I  have  been 
her  fellow-prisoner.  Oh,  father !  I  have  sinned  against 
Heaven,  and  in  thy  sight,  and  am  no  longer  worthy  to 
be  called  thy  son." 

Tears  were  raining  down  the  old  man's  face — his  arms 
were  extended,  and  he  cried  out : 

"  Oh,  my  son,  my  son !  what  is  thy  innocence  or  guilt 
to  us,  when  God  has  forgiven  ?"  Again  the  old  man 
fell  upon  his  son's  bosom  and  wept. 

When  Katharine's  head  was  uncovered,  and  the  old 
people  had  wiped  away  their  tears,  the  change  which 
had  taken  place  in  that  young  couple  struck  them  with 
fresh  thrills  of  tenderness.  Thrasher's  hair  was  thread- 
,ed  with  silver,  and  the  face  it  shadowed  bore  proofs  of 


THE    CONVICT'S    KETURJST.          501 

suffering  which  uo  after  time  could  eiface,  but  the  serene 
strength  which  sprang  out  of  his  new  life,  gave  some- 
thing of  grandeur  to  his  features.  There  was  no  look 
of  concealment  in  it  now,  but  he  met  his  father's  eyes 
with  the  open  frankness  of  boyhood. 

The  dear  old  lady  could  not  be  satisfied  with  one 
embrace,  but  hovered  around  her  son  in  a  birdlike  flut- 
ter, smoothed  his  hair  with  her  plump  little  palm,  and 
laid  her  cheek  lovingly  against  it,  whispering,  "  My  poor 
boy,  my  poor  dear  boy. " 

Katharine  had  been  whispering  to  her  mother ;  her 
face  became  anxious ;  she  was  evidently  pleading  for 
something.  At  last  the  stiff  old  woman  arose,  and 
going  up  to  Thrasher  laid  one  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Nelson  Thrasher,  I  know  the  wrong  you  have  done 
my  daughter.  My  son  told  me  all  before  he  went  his 
voyage  to  the  Indies.  He  charged  me  to  keep  it  secret, 
and  I  have.  She  begs  me  to  pardon  it,  and  I  will. 
Nelson  Thrasher,  I  forgive  you,  as  I  pray  God  to  for- 
give my  own  sins." 

Thrasher  bowed  his  head  ;  the  solemnity  of  the  old 
woman  went  to  his  soul.  After  a  moment  his  face  was 
slowly  lifted,  and  his  eyes  looked  into  hers. 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  said,  gently.  "  Katharine,  tell  her 
that  she  can  trust  you  with  me  now." 

Katharine  came  to  his  side,  smiling. 

"  Yes,  mother ;  for  he  loves  me ;  and  I,  oh,  you  know 
how  it  was  always  with  me." 

"And  now  you  will  live  with  us,"  said  Mrs.  Thrasher, 
hovering  around  her  son,  troubled  in  her  heart  that  any 
one  should  claim  a  word  or  look. 

"  Yes,  mother,  we  have  come  to  the  homestead  to  end 
our  clays.  Here,  among  our  old  neighbors,  we  will 
redeem  the  good  name  which  has  been  forfeited  by 


502          TOM     HUTCHINS'     QUARREL. 

your  son,  and  innocently  lost  by  this  dear  girl.  Where 
else  can  we  turn  ?  Let  our  neighbors  know  all ;  we  will 
have  nothing  to  do  with  concealments,  but  meet  their 
kindness  or  condemnation  fairly.  In  time  they  will 
learn  to  like  us  again — for  her  sake  I  hope  it,  and  will 
toil  for  it." 

"  We  will  always  stand  by  our  children ;  wont  we 
Mrs.  Allen?" 

It  was  the  soft,  cooing  voice  of  Mrs.  Thrasher  which 
uttered  these  words.  "  The  neighbors  like  us,  and  wont 
be  harsh  with  them.  If  they  should,  you  know  we  are 
company  among  ourselves."  The  dear  old  woman 
turned  her  mild  brown  eyes  from  Mrs.  Allen  to  her  hus- 
band, questioning  them  both. 

The  old  man  smiled. 

"  Our  son  is  right ;  let  him  start  life  once  more  among 
his  old  neighbors." 

And  so  it  was  settled  among  them,  in  the  stillness  of 
that  night,  after  Nelson  Thrasher  had  revealed  every 
thing  to  his  parents. 


CHAPTER  LXXYIII. 

TOM  HUTCHINS'  QUARREL. 

THE  church  bell  was  ringing  cheerfully  on  Falls  Hill. 
Indeed,  on  a  day  like  that,  every  sound  took  a  jubilant 
tone.  The  sunshine  was  so  bright,  the  meadows  and 
foliage  so  richly  green,  that  one  breathed  deeply  with  a 
keen  sense  of  enjoyment. 

The  birds  in  the  pine  woods  made  a  perfect  riot  of 
music  among  the  trees,  and  built  their  nests  lovingly, 


TOM     HUTCHINSJ     QUARREL.  503 

in  defiance  of  blue  laws,  and  forgetful — as  birds  will  be 
sometimes — that  it  was  the  Sabbath  day.  Even  pretty 
little  humming-birds  came  out  in  force  that  morning, 
and  shook  the  trumpet  honeysuckles  like  mad  things, 
buzzing  their  wings,  and  setting  the  great  bumble  bees 
that  haunted  the  clover  fields  a  most  indecorous  exam- 
ple. Such  quantities  of  fennel  as  was  cut  from  the  green 
stalks  that  morning  and  tied  into  dainty  bunches,  ready 
to  be  nibbled  at  in  church.  Such  pretty  bouquets  of 
violets  and  wild  roses  were  made — such  lovely  new  bon- 
nets and  muslin  dresses  as  appeared  that  day  for  the 
first  time — I  can  neither  describe  or  enumerate. 

"  What  was  it  all  about  ?" 

Why  a  confirmation,  a  wedding,  and  a  double  baptism 
were  to  come  off  that  day,  performed  by  the  bishop  him- 
self. No  wonder  all  Chewstown  came  over  from  that 
side  of  the  river.  No  wonder  that  Falls  Hill,  Bungy, 
and  Shrub  Oak — to  say  nothing  of  the  factory  flats — 
should  be  one  scene  of  commotion !  The  wedding  of 
itself  would  have  been  enough  to  set  people  wild.  Why 
the  bride  was  pretty  Rose  Mason,  that  little  girl  who 
used  to  live  with  her  handsome  mother  down  in  the  pine 
woods ;  the  sweetest  creature  that  the  sun  ever  shone 
upon,  and  just  as  beautiful  now ;  in  fact,  more  so. 

"  Who  was  she  going  to  marry  ?" 

Did  any  one  remember  a  remarkably  handsome  little 
fellow  who  came  to  board  with  Mrs.  Allen,  in  Bungy, 
about  the  time  that  Katy  Allen — well,  they  would  not 
say  any  thing  about  that ;  poor  thing,  she  had  suffered 
enough — but  he  went  to  school  at  Shrub  Oak,  and  was 
a  perfect  little  gentleman.  His  name  was  Paul  De 
Yarney,  and  he  had  come  out  so  rich  that  no  one  could 
count  his  gold. 

There  was  but  one  tiling  that  could  be  said  against 


504:  TOM     HUTCHINS'    QUARREL. 

the  match — young  De  Yarney  brought  a  black  slave 
with  him  when  he  first  came  into  the  State,  and  kept 
him  still,  for  the  poor  fellow  had  been  about  Bungy  not 
two  days  ago,  and  no  doubt  was  there  yet.  The  bishop 
might  have  something  to  say  about  that  before  he  would 
marry  the  young  man ;  but  it  was  to  be  hoped  that  it 
would  not  quite  break  up  the  match.  Still,  a  slave  in 
old  Connecticut  I  that  could  not  be  thought  of  a  mo- 
ment by  any  Christian  community.  Certainly  Nelson 
Thrasher  and  his  wife  would  be  confirmed — that  was  all 
settled  with  the  bishop,  who  had  been  informed  about 
the  case  thoroughly  by  Thrasher  himself;  as  for  his  wife, 
people  were  beginning  to  think  that  after  all  she  had 
been  innocent  about  that  affair.  A  woman  that  could 
kill  her  own  child  never  yet  made  a  wife  like  her.  Why 
those  old  people  fairly  worshipped  her.  When  old 
Mrs.  Thrasher  was  sick,  she  never  had  her  clothes  off 
for  weeks  together.  Then  she  was  so  good  in  sickness  ; 
always  the  first  to  offer  herself,  if  watchers  were  wanted. 
Why  Tom  Hutchins  might  have  lost  his  young  wife  if 
it  had  not  been  for  her  care.  Night  and  day,  night  and 
day,  that  faithful  woman  was  by  her  bedside,  till  the 
fever  left  her.  The  doctor  had  been  heard  to  declare, 
over  and  over  again,  that  he  should  not  know  how  to  get 
along  with  his  patients  if  it  were  not  for  Mrs.  Nelson 
Thrasher.  Then  Nelson  had  turned  out  such  a  sensible, 
steady  man,  for  all  his  hard  life.  Yes,  yes ;  the  thing 
was  certain ;  both  he  and  his  wife  would  be  confirmed. 
No  doubt  of  that. 

Then  about  the  baptism  ;  of  course  that  was  for  Tom 
Hutchins'  twins^a  girl  and  a  boy  that  you  could  not 
tell  apart  to  save  your  life.  Tom  and  his  wife  were  so 
proud  of  those  young  ones  they  never  would  be  content 
till  all  the  town  had  seen  them  in  their  long  white 


TOM     HUTCHINS'     QUARREL.  505 

cli listening  dresses.  That  young  fellow  did  make  sucli 
a  fool  of  himself.  Just  as  if  nobody  had  ever  had  twins 
to  baptize  before  him. 

All  this  gossip  was  pretty  nearly  true.  The  bishop 
had  come,  and  was  stopping  at  the  square  white  house 
near  the  willow  tree.  Paul  De  Varney  was  staying  at 
Mrs.  Allen's  with  .Tube.  David  Kice  had  built  a  large 
side  building  to  the  old  house,  since  he  settled  on  the 
farm,  and  it  was  plenty  large  enough  to  accommodate 
half  a  dozen  guests  if  they  could  have  been  persuaded 
to  stay.  But  when  Mr.  Prior  the  minister,  and  his  little 
wife,  came  from  Bays  Hollow,  bringing  Rose  Mason 
back  to  be  married  in  her  native  village,  they  went 
directly  up  to  old  Mrs.  Thrasher's  and  made  the  home- 
stead cheerful  with  compan}^. 

Since  the  arrival  of  all  these  people  in  the  village, 
Tom  Hutchins,  who  lived  in  Mrs.  Mason's  cottage  in 
the  pine  woods,  had  been  wonderfully  busy,  and  gave 
himself  up  to  his  friends  more  completely  than  could  be 
expected  of  a  young  married  man,  not  two  months 
before  made  the  father  of  healthy  twins,  good  as  gold 
and  plump  as  partridges. 

Notwithstanding  this  paternal  drawback,  Tom  had 
made  all  arrangements  with  regard  to  the  bishop ;  had 
seen  the  publishment  properly  laid  on  the  pulpit  cushion, 
ready  for  use,  three  legal  Sundays,  and  had  twice  driven 
his  steel  colored  colt  into  New  Haven,  to  get  a  pair  of 
satin  slippers  and  a  certain  kind  of  ribbon  for  Rose,  at 
which  his  wife  pouted,  and  the  twins,  partaking  of  hor 
ill  humor,  kept  the  poor  fellow  walking  the  chamber 
floor  half  the  night,  now  with  one,  and  then  with  tho 
other,  in  his  arms. 

I  am  afraid  Mrs.  Hutchins  did  not,  on  that  occasion, 
take  quite  her  share  of  the  nursing.  When  Tom  asked 


506          TOM     HUTCHINS'     QUARREL. 

her,  in  his  distress,  if  she  wouldn't  get  up  and  make  a 

• 

little  fennel  seed  tea  for  the  poor  little  things,  she  de- 
sired to  know  if  it  wouldn't  be  just  as  well  to  make  that 
request  of  Rose  Mason,  with  her  curls  and  her  gipsy 
hat  on  one  side,  at  which  Tom  broke  forth  with  energy : 

"  Talk  about  Rose  Mason,"  he  said  ;  "  the  girl  that 
was  going  to  marry  his  earliest  friend,  one  of  the  finest 
fellows  on  earth— a  girl  that  was  good  as  gold,  and 
generous  as —  Oh  it  was  too  bad ;  he  wouldn't  have 
thought  it  of  a  wife  of  his — a  woman  that  he  had 
loved  so." 

"  Had  loved  1"  Mrs.  Hutchins  murmured,  faintly, 
"  Had  loved !" 

Tom's  heart  melted  within  him  as  he  heard  the  low 
protest,  but  he  contented  himself  by  kissing  each  of 
the  twins,  while  their  little  heads  rested  on  his  shoulders, 
and  went  on  making  an  iron-hearted  fellow  of  himself. 

Yes,  Tom  meant  had.  Xo  love  in  the  world  could 
stand  such  venomous  attacks  on  that  nice  girl,  who 
had  given  him  up  so  handsomely.  Where  would  she 
have  been  but  for  that  ?  Breaking  her  heart,  and 
pining  herself  to  death,  instead  of  taking  her  place  as 
a  respectable  married  person  and  the  head  of  a  thriving 
family.  There  was  the  twins,  too,  precious  dears.  Par 
wasn't  scolding  them.  Where  in  the  world  would  they 
have  been  if  Rose  had  kept  him  to  his  word,  as  any 
other  girl  would  have  done  ? 

Here  Mrs.  Hutchins  began  to  sob,  and  said,  peni- 
tently, that  she  hadn't  meant  any  thing  of  the  kind — 
in  fact,  hadn't  said  a  single  thing  against  Miss  Rose 
Mason,  who  was  breaking  her  heart  though ;  and — 
and — oh,  dear,  if  she'd  only  staj-ed  at  home  with  her  own 
dear  par  and  mar,  instead  of  marrying  a  man  that  didn't 


TOM     HUTCH  INS'    QUABREL.  507 

love  her,  and  was  keeping  her  poor  babies  out  in  the 
cold  just  to  break  her  heart. 

"  There,  there  !  just  snuggle  the  little  shavers  up  to 
you,  that's  a  darling !"  cried  Tom,  huddling  the  two 
babies  into  their  mother's  arms,  and  leaving  a  peni- 
tential kiss  somewhere  in  the  borders  of  her  cap.  "I'll 
kindle  the  fire  and  make  some  tea  myself — I  know  you 
didn't  mean  it." 

"  Indeed  I  didn't,  Tom.  But  you  mustn't  do  it ;  I 
will." 

"There  now,  keep  quiet,  or  you'll  set  'em  a-going 
again." 

"  No,  Tom,  they're  both  sound  asleep." 

"  You  don't  say  so.  Well,  they've  got  me  wide 
awake,  anyhow ;  so  I'll  just  light  a  candle  and  show 
you  what  I  really  was  doing  in  New  Haven,  and  what 
Rose  Mason  wanted  me  to  buy  for  her." 

Tom  unlocked  a  closet  that  held  his  cravats  and  sun- 
day  clothes,  from  which  he  took  a  long,  deep  paper 
box,  and  carried  it  to  the  bed. 

"  See  here !"  he  cried,  lifting  up  a  garment  so  white 
and  soft  that  it  seemed  woven  from  snow-flakes.  "  Two 
of  'em,  just  alike ;  India  muslin  that  her  father  sent 
from  Calcutta,  she  told  me  to  tell  you.  See  how  they 
are  worked  round  the  bottom,  and  cut  up  with  lace. 
Then,  here's  the  caps !  One  of  'em  just  fits  my  fist. 
It  was  to  get  the  ribbon  for  these  cockades  she  sent  me 
to  New  Haven — white  for  the  gal,  and  blue  for  the  boy. 
Now  what  do  you  think  about  it  ?" 

Mrs.  Hutchins  thought  that  she  was  the  most  silly, 
unreasonable,  good-for-nothing  creature  that  ever  lived; 
but  she  hoped,  for  all,  that  Tom  wouldn't  say  had  again. 
It  was  too  cruel,  even  if  she  was  to  blame. 

Tom    admitted   that   he   was   a   hard-hearted,  cruel, 


508      THE     WEDDING     AND     BAPTISM. 

tiger  of  a  fellow,  and  not  worth  half  the  love  she  gave 
him ;  and  so  the  young  couple  were  reconciled. 


CHAPTER     LXXIX. 

THE   WEDDING   AND   THE   BAPTISM. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  this  little  domestic  scene,  Tom 
stood  by  his  friends  bravely ;  "  he  was  bound  to  see  this 
wedding  put  through  in  style,  let  what  would  come." 
Mrs.  Hutchins  was  a  wise  little  lady  in  her  day,  and 
kept  quiet  after  this ;  but  she  insisted  on  having  a  new 
straw  bonnet  with  white  ribbons,  and  would  have  worn 
her  own  wedding  dress  only  Tom  objected,  and  said  it 
would  be  like  putting  on  airs,  and  she  the  head  of  a 
family ;  that  dove-colored  silk  would  do  beautifully. 

So  the  afternoon  came,  as  I  have  said,  and  the  bell 
rang  out  loud  and  cheerfully,  sounding  out  an  invitation 
to  every  lady  from  Rock  Rimmoud  to  Castle  Rock.  Then 
the  people  came  pouring  in  from  Bungy,  Shrub  Oak, 
Chewstown,  and  Pine  Island  in  a  perpetual  storm.  The 
old  barn-like  Presbyterian  meeting-house  in  Chewstown 
was  deserted  by  all  except  the  most  aged  members,  and 
the  school-house  where  the  little  handful  of  Methodists 
worshipped,  had  to  close  its  doors,  for  no  one  but  the 
class  leader  presented  himself  for  admission.  So  the 
church  was  crowded. 

Those  who  could  not  gain  access  were  scattered  in 
groups  on  the  green  jn  front,  and  a  crowd  took  shelter 
under  the  old  willow  at  the  crossroads,  determined  to 
get  a  good  view  of  that  young  foreigner  who  was  going 


THE     WEDDING     AND     BAPTISM.      509 

to  marry  pretty  Rose  Mason.  People  said  he  was 
handsome  as  a  lord,  and  rich  as  a  prince.  Of  course  he 
should  be  all  that  to  carry  off  the  prettiest  girl  that  ever 
lived  in  the  town,  to  say  nothing  of  her  goodness.  Of 
course  everybody  remembered  Captain  Mason  and  his 
handsome  wife.  She  was  dead,  poor  woman ;  but  Cap- 
tain Mason  had  given  up  his  ship,  and  was  going  to 
France  with  his  daughter  and  her  young  husband. 
Wasn't  it  strange  that  Captain  Rice  should  have  got 
into  company  like  that?  And  Tom  Hutchins.  The  young 
couple  are  going  to  take  tea  at  Tom's  house  after  the 
ceremony.  Strange,  wasn't  it  ?  But  then  Tom  always 
was  stumbling  into  some  good  fortune. 

While  these  remarks  were  going  on  the  people  within 
the  church  were  lost  in  admiration  of  the  rare  flowers — 
white  roses  and  white  lilies — that  shed  their  fragrance 
over  the  altar.  The  same  perfume  which  was  to  float 
around  the  bride  would  first  consecrate  the  penitents 
who  came  forward  for  confirmation. 

They  came  up  the  broad  aisle  slowly  and  with  down- 
cast eyes — a  man  and  his  wife,  only  those  two.  The 
bishop  stood  ready.  Every  eye  was  upon  them ;  some 
turned  away  in  hard  contempt,  some  looked  pitifully  on 
the  young  woman  who,  innocent  or  guilty,  had  suffered 
so  much.  How  beautiful  she  was.  With  what  meek 
grace  she  knelt  down  and  bowed  her  head  where  the 
shadow  of  her  trouble  had  fallen  so  early.  And  the 
man,  how  quiet  and  self-centered  he  was,  giving  his  soul 
up  to  its  holy  work,  without  a  thought  of  those  who 
looked  on.  Handsome ;  yes,  he  was  more  than  hand- 
some, with  that  glow  upon  his  face ;  but  it  only  came 
once,  when  her  eyes  were  uplifted  to  his,  after  that  a 
solemn  sadness  fell  upon  him. 

That  group  of  old  people,  and  that  open-faced  seafar- 


510      THE     WEDDING     AND     BAPTISM. 

ing  man,  standing  near  the  altar.  Certainly  that  was 
her  mother,  and  the  little  woman  standing  close  to  the 
old  man,  was  his  mother,  and  the  seafaring  man  was 
Captain  Rice,  her  half  brother.  How  completely  they 
seemed  absorbed  by  the  kneeling  couple.  Well,  after 
all  there  must  be  some  excuse — crime  did  not  seem  natu- 
ral to  such  people,  or  to  the  children  of  that  honest 
couple.  God  must  have  touched  their  hearts. 

Thus  the  prejudices  of  the  congregation  softened, 
and  gave  way  under  the  spiritual  influence  of  that  holy 
rite  which  stamped  those  who  had  been  condemned 
criminals  as  Christians  before  the  Lord. 

When  Katharine  arose  from  her  consecration  and 
moved  back,  some  of  her  old  schoolmates  looked  kindly 
upon  her,  and  one  opened  the  pew  door,  thus  inviting 
her  to  a  seat.  At  this  a  flush  came  over  her  pale  face, 
and  you  could  see  quick  tears  swelling  under  her  eye- 
lids. 

After  these  two  people  were  lost  sight  of,  another 
group  appeared  in  the  aisle.  A  noble  young  man,  with 
those  soft,  velvety  eyes,  that  are  at  once  so  languid  and 
so  bright,  and  a  fair  young  creature,  crowned  with  white 
jessamines,  and  floating  in  a  cloud  of  gossamer  lace, 
whose  cheeks  wore  a  flush  of  wild  roses,  and  whose  lips 
trembled  between  smiles  and  tears.  No  bridesmaids 
were  in  attendance,  but  a  tall,  gra~we  man,  whom  every- 
body recognized  as  the  bride's  father,  walked  with  them 
to  the  altar,  and  gave  her  away,  with  a  look  of  tender 
sadness  that  seemed  habitual  to  his  noble  face. 

The  bridal  party  stepped  aside  from  the  altar  to  make 
room  for  another  couple,  and  then  Tom  Hutchins  and 
his  wife  came  up  the  broad  aisle  with  blushes  and 
smiles  chasing  each  other  across  their  faces  as  pride 
and  strength  shone  in  those  young  hearts.  The  man 


THE     WEDDING     AND     BAPTISM.       511 

carried  an  infant  in  his  arms,  whose  soft  face  dimpled  in 
response  to  its  father's  smiles,  and  which  wore  a  blue 
rosette  in  the  mass  of  soft  lace  that  formed  its  cap. 
The  woman  looked  fresh  as  a  wild  rose  in  her  bonnet 
with  white  ribbons  and  a  dove-colored  silk  adown  which 
the  long  white  christening  dress  of  the  girl  baby  floated 
mistily,  while  the  rosette  on  its  cap  fluttered  like  a 
white  poppy  in  the  wind. 

Paul  and  Rose,  these  names  were  duplicated  at  the 
altar  with  due  sprinkling  of  water-drops  from  a  fount 
wreathed  with  flowers.  Then  Tom  Hutchins  and  his 
wife  walked  down  the  aisle  again,  looking  grave  and 
thoughtful,  as  if  they  had  just  begun  to  realize  what  it 
was  to  be  the  father  and  mother  of  human  souls,  whose 
pilgrimage  is  through  all  eternity. 

In  violation  of  the  usual  custom,  a  colored  man  was 
accommodated  with  a  seat  near  the  door,  whose  glowing 
face  and  genial  smile  made  every  one  in  his  vicinity 
brighten  with  pleasant  sympathy.  He  was  so  occupied 
with  the  ceremony  that  he  had  not  regarded  a  little 
group  of  persons  who  stood  just  outside  the  church, 
conversing  eagerly  together.  At  last  one  of  these  men 
came  and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

Jube,  xised  to  obedience,  arose  and  followed  the  man 
into  the  centre  of  the  group  that  was  evidently  waiting 
for  him,  and  looked  around  in  some  surprise,  for  they 
were  all  strangers. 

"I  say,"  said  one  of  the  men,  making  mysterious 
signals  with  his  fingers,  "  now's  your  time,  while  every- 
body is  looking  on  the  christening.  There's  my  horse 
and  wagon ;  take  you  to  New  Haven  in  an  hour ;  steam- 
boat ready.  We've  made  a  little  contribution.  Here's 
two  silver  dollars,  and  you'll  find  some  doughnuts  in 
the  wagon  seat  with  a  chunk  of  cheese.  Liberty's 


THE     WEDDING     AND     BAPTISM. 

the  -word.  Leave  the  horse  at  Buck's  tavern  in  Chapel 
street,  till  sent  for." 

Jube  turned  from  one  face  to  another,  wondering 
what  they  wanted  of  him. 

"  Don't  be  skeered,  and  look  so  wild,"  said  the  first 
speaker,  "we'll  stand  by  you;  it's  our  bounden  duty  as 
Christians.  So  jump  in  while  you  have  a  chance." 

Of  course  Jube  had  learned  a  good  deal  of  English 
in  all  the  years  that  he  had  been  in  America ;  but  he 
spoke  brokenly,  and  had  some  difficulty  in  commanding 
words  when  taken  by  surprise. 

"  What  you  want  ob  Jube  ?     Where  shall  he  jump  ?" 

"  Out  of  slavery  into  liberty,"  was  the  answer.  "  Run 
away  from  the  young  man  who  owns  you  for  his  slave." 

"  Slave !  slave ! — what  for  Jube  run  away  from  young 
master?  What  for  who  s&ys  so — Jube  happy  very 
much." 

"  But  you  are  a  slave !" 

Jube  laughed  till  all  his  white  teeth  shone  again : 

"Jube  like  slave." 

"  He  makes  you  work  for  nothing  !" 

Jube  looked  down  at  his  brawny  frame,  and  laughed 
again. 

"  Come,  cuff,  make  haste !"  cried  the  man  whose 
wagon  was  waiting,  "  you've  no  time  to  lose.  They'll 
be  coming  out  soon,  and  then  it's  all  day  with  your 
chance." 

In  his  eager  philanthropy,  the  man  put  his  arm  through 
Jube's,  and  attempted  to  drag  him  toward  the  willow 
tree,  where  his  horse  was  fastened,  but  Jube  shook 
him  off. 

"  Jube  ride  behind  young  masser  and  Miss  Rose.  He 
happy  there." 

"Poor  fellow,"  said  the  man,  in  a  broken-hearted 


THE     WEDDING     AND     BAPTISM.      518 

voice.  "  He  don't  know  what  freedom  is.  Let  him  go. 
It's  too  late  now;  they're  coming." 

True  enough,  Paul  De  Varney  and  his  bride  were  walk- 
ing down  the  broad  aisle  of  the  church — he  with  a  smile 
on  his  lips,  and  she  with  a  warm  flush  of  roses  on  her 
cheeks.  Behind  them  came  Hutchins  and  his  family. 

A  carriage  was  drawn  up  at  the  door,  ready  to  carry 
the  bridal  pair  to  Tom  Hutchins'  house,  in  the  pine 
woods.  Jube  sprang  forward  to  open  the  carriage  door, 
and  held  his  arm  down  to  save  that  snowy  bridal  dress 
from  a  contact  with  the  wheels. 

Rose  smiled  upon  him  as  she  entered  the  carriage, 
and  touched  his  shoulder,  as  if  for"  support,  which 
brought  a  blessing  upon  her  in  Jube's  broken  English. 

When  Paul  took  his  seat,  Jube  seized  his  hand  and 
kissed  it,  thus  giving  his  congratulations  before  those 
,who  would  have  lured  him  away  in  the  kindness  of  their 
ignorance.  The  faithful  fellow  felt  as  if  his  master  had 
been  slandered  when  these  men  called  him  a  slave,  and 
so  he  was. 

Directly  after  the  carriage  drove  off,  a  smart,  little 
one-horse  wagon,  yellow  as  an  orange,  took  its  place, 
and  over  the  wheel  leaped  our  friend  Tom  Hutchins, 
who  waited,  with  the  reins  in  his  hand,  till  a  little  wo- 
man, with  an  infant  on  each  arm,  came  out  of  the  crowd. 
Tom  took  the  boy  baby  in  one  arm,  and  held  his  horse 
with  the  other,  till  the  little  woman  clambered  over  the 
front  wheel  to  her  seat.  Then,  after  smoothing  down 
its  complication  of  garments,  he  settled  the  little  trooper, 
as  he  called  it,  by  its  twin  in  their  young  mother's  lap, 
gave  a  leap  to  her  side,  and,  with  an  old-fashioned  crack 
of  the  whip,  dashed  after  the  wedding  carriage. 

Not  till  most  of  the  congregation  had  left  the  church 
32 


514       THE     W  K  T  ^  T  X  Q     AND     BAPTISM. 

did  Nelson  Thrasher  come  forth  with  his  wife,  circled, 
as  it  were,  by  the  old  people,  and  supported  by  Captain 
Bice. 

The  bishop  left  his  vestry  and  came  with  them,  talking 
in  a  low,  kind  voice  to  Katharine  for  some  moments  on 
the  steps  of  the  church,  when  he  left  her  with  a  fatherly 
shake  of  the  hand.  Several  of  the  matrons  and  girls 
who  had  held  aloof  till  then,  came  up  and  gave  both 
Nelson  and  herself  a  cordial  greeting.  It  was  known 
that  they  had  been  invited  to  join  the  wedding  party, 
and  that  young  De  Varney  had  left  Thrasher  in  charge 
of  his  property  during  his  proposed  absence  in  Europe. 
This  proof  of  confidence  had  a  wonderful  effect  on  the 
old  neighbors,  and  quite  a  little  group  gathered  around 
the  husband  and  wife,  giving  them  generous  God 
speed. 

Neither  Katharine  or  her  husband  cared  to  join  that 
bridal  party  down  in  the  pine  woods.  The  day  had 
been  too  impressive  and  solemn  for  that.  But  with 
serene  faces  and  hearts  full  of  gratitude,  they  entered 
the  one-horse  wagon  that  waited  for  them  and  followed 
the  old  folks  slowly  over  the  Bungy  hills. 


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LIBRARY  OCTAVO  EDITION,  IN  NINE  VOLUMES. 
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Jack    Ilinton,  .......................        75 


Tom  Burke  of  Ours,  ...............       75 

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Adventures  in  Africa, 1  00 

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Love  and  Money 1  5C 

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Li 'e  and  Beauties  Fnnny  Fern,  1   50 


Humors  of  Falconbridge, 1  69 

Secession,  Coercion,  and  Civil 

War, 1  50 

What  I  Saw,  and  Where  I 

Went, 1   50 


Lady  Maud:  or,  the  Wonder  of  Kingswood  Chase, 1  50 

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HUMOROUS  AMERICAN  WORKS. 

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Major  Jones' Travels, 75 

Simon  Suggs'  Adventures  and 

Travels, 75 

Major  Jones'  Chronicles  of 

Pineville, 75 

Polly  Peablossom's  Wedding,..  75 

Mysteries  of  the  Backwoods,...  75 

Widow  Rugby's  Husband, 75 

Big  Bear  of  Arkansas 75 

Western  Scenes;  or,  Life  on 

the  Frairie, 75 

Streaks  of  Squatter  Life 75 

Pickings  from  the  Picayune,...  75 
Stray  Subjects,  Arrested  and 

Bound  Over, 75 

Louisiana  Swamp  Doctor, 75 

Charcoal  Sketches, 75 

Misfortunes  of  Peter  Faber,....  75 

Yankee  among  the  Mermaids,..  75 

New  Orleans  Sketch  Book, 75 


Drama  in  Pokerville, ,  75 

The  Quorndon  Hounds, ,  75 

My  Shooting  Box, 76 

Warwick  Woodlands, 76 

The  Door  Stalkers, 76 

Pejer  Ploddy, 75 

Adventures  of  Captain  Farrago.  75 
Major  O'Regan's  Adventures,..  75 
Sol.  Smith's  Theatrical  Appren- 
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Sol.  Smith's  Theatrical  Jour- 

uey-Work, 75 

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Aunt  Patty's  Scrap  Bag, 75 

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Following  the  Drum, 50 


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75 


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LANGUAGES  WITHOUT  A  MASTER. 


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Percy  Effingham, 76 


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Who  Shall  be  Heir? 38 

Secret  Foe, 38 


Expectant, 38 

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Nan  Darrell 38 

Prince  and  Pedlar, 38 

Merchant's  Daughter, 38 

The  Squire, 38 

Marrying  for  Money, 76 


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Kit  Clayton, 25 

Lives  of  the  Felons, 25 

Life  of  Tom  Waters, 25 

Life  of  Mrs.Whipple  and  Jesse 

Strang, 25 

Nat  Blake, 25 

Bill  Horton, 25 

Galloping  Gus, 25 

DR.  HOLLICK'S  WORKS. 

Dr.  Hollick's  great  work  on  Anatomy  and  Physiology  of  the  Human 

Figure,  with  plate? 50 

Dr.  Hollick's  Family  Physician, 25 


50 
50 
50 
50 
50 
50 
50 

HI 

50 
25 
50 
50 
50 
25 
25 
50 
25 
25 
25 
25 
50 
25 
25 
25 
25 
25 

25 

25 
25 
25 

Newton  Forster,  

50 
50 
50 
50 
50 
50 
50 

25 
25 
25 
50 
25 
25 
25 
25 
25 
25 
25 

25 
25 
25 
50 
25 
25 
50 
50 
50 
75 
1  50 

Pirate  and  Three  Cutters,  

Sea  King,  

GHWAYMEN. 

Biddy  Woodhull,  

Eveleen  Wilson,  

Diary  of  a  Pawnbroker,  

Silver  and  Pewter,  

Sweeney  Todd,  

Life  of  Mother  Brownrig,  
Dick  Parker,  the  Pirate,  
Life  of  Mary  Bateman  

Life  of  Captain  Blood,  

Capt.  Blood  and  the  Beagles,.. 
Sixteen-Stringed  Jack's  Fight 

Highwayman's  Avenger,  
Life  of  Raoul  De  Surville,  
Life  of  Sybil  Grey,  

Life  of  Rody  the  Rover,  

Life  of  Galloping  Dick,  

Life  of  Grace  O'Malley,  

Life  of  Jack  Shephard,  

Life  of  Davy  Crockett,  

Life  and  Adventures  of  Vidocq, 

Books  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  the  Retail  Price,  by 
T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brother*,  Philadelphia,  Fa. 


10  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


EXCITING   SEA  TALES. 


Adventures  of  Ben  Brace, 75 

Jack  Adams,  the  Mutineer,....  75 

Jack  Ariel's  Adventures, 75 

Petrel ;  or,  Life  on  the  Ocean,.  50 

Yankee  Jack, 50 

Red  Wing, 50 

Life  of  Paul  Periwinkle, 50 

Life  of  Alexander  Tardy, 25 

Life  of  Tom  Bowling, 75 

Percy  Effingham, 75 

Red  King, 50 

Cruising  in  the  Last  War, 75 

The  Corsair, 50 

The  Pirate's  Son, 25 

The  Doomed  Ship, 25 

The  Three  Pirates, 50 

The  Flying  Dutchman, 50 

The  Flying  Yankee, 25 

The  Yankee  Middy, 25 

The  Gold  Seekers, 25 

The  River  Pirates, 25 

The  King's  Cruisers, 25 

Man-of-War's-Man, 25 

Dark  Shades  of  City  Life, 25 

The  Rats  of  the  Seine, 25 


Yankees  in  Japan,  ................  25 

Charles  Ransford,  .................  25 

Morgan,  the  Buccaneer,  .........  25 

Jack  Junk,  ..........................  25 

Davis,  the  Pirate,  ................  25 

Valdez,  the  Pirate,  ..............  25 

The  Iron  Cross,  ...................  25 

Gallant  Tom,  .......................  25 

Harry  Helm,  ........................  25 

Harry  Tempest,  ....................  25 

Rebel  and  Rover,  ..................  25 

Jacob  Faithful,  .....................  50 

Phantom  Ship,  .....................  50 

Midshipman  Easy,  ................  50 

Pacha  of  Many  Tales,  ............  50 

Naval  Officer,  .......................  50 

Snarleyow,  ...........................  50 


Newton  Forster, 
King's  Own, 


50 
50 

Japhot, 50 

Pirate  and  Three  Cutters, 50 

Peter  Simple, 50 

Percival  Keene, 50 

Poor  Jack, 50 

Sea  King, 50 


AINSWORTH'S  GREAT  WORKS. 


Life  of  Jack  Shephard, 50 

Life  of  Davy  Crockett, 50 

Guy  Fawkes, 75 

The  Star  Chamber, 75 

Old  St.  Paul's, 75 

Courtof  Queen  Anne, 50 


Tower  of  London, 1  00 

Miser's  Daughter, 1  00 


Dick  Turpin, 50 

Life  of  Henry  Thomas, 25 

Life  .of  Mrs  Whipple, 25 

MILITARY  NOVELS. 

With  Illuminated  Military  Covers,  in  five  Colors. 


Desperadoes  of  the  New  World,  26 

Ninon  De  L'Enclos, 25 

Courtof  the  Stuarts, 75 

Windsor  Castle, 75 

Life  of  Arthur  Spring, 25 

Life  of  Grace  O'Malley, 50 


Charles  O'Malley, 75 

lack  Hinton,  the  Guardsman,  75 

The  Knight  of  Gwynne, 75 

Harry  Lorrequer, 75 

Tom  Burkeof  Ours, 75 

Arthur  O'Leary, 75 

Con  Cretan, 75 

Xfite  O'Donoghue, 75 

Horace  Templeton, 75 

Davenport  Dunn, 75 

Bellowing  the  Drum, 50 

Valentine  Vox, 75 

Twin  Lieutenants, 75 

Stories  of  Waterloo, 75 

The  Soldier's  Wife, 75 

Guerilla  Chief, 75 


Jack  Adams'  Adventures, 75 

The  Three  Guardsmen, 75 

Twenty  Years  After, 75 

Bragelonne,  Son  of  Athos, 75 

Wallace,  the  Hero  of  Scotland,  75 

Forty-five  Guardsmen, 75 

Tom  Bowling's  Adventures,...  75 

Life  of  Robert  Bruce, 75 

The  Gipsy  Chief, 75 

Massacre  of  Glencoc, 75 

Life  of  Guy  Fawkes, 75 

Child  of  Waterloo, 75 

Adventures  of  Ben  Brace, 75 

Life  of  Jack  Ariel, 75 


The  Quaker  Soldier, 1  50 

The  Conscript, 1  50 


Books  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  the  Retail  Price,  by 
T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,   Philadelphia,  Pa. 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.  11 


MILITARY  AND    ARMY  BOOKS. 


The  Soldier's  Companion, 

The  Soldier's  Guide 

Volunteer's  Text  Book,.......,. 


Ellsworth's  Zouave  Drill, 25 

U.  S.  Light  Infantry  Drill, 25 

U.  S.  Government  Infantry  & 

Rifle  Tactics, 25 

EUGENE  SUE'S  WORKS. 

Wandering  Jew, 1  50    Woman's  Love, 

Mysteries  of  Paris, 1  50 

Martin,  the  Foundling, 1>50 


First  Love,. 


50 


Female  Bluebeard, 

Man-of-War's-Man, 

Life  of  Raoul  De  Surville, 


25 

25 
60 


5* 
60 
26 


J.  F.  SMITH'S  WORKS. 

The     Usurer's     Victim;     er,            I  Adelaide  Waldgrave;  or,  Trials 
Thomas  Balscombe, 75  I      of  a  Governess,.., T5 

REVOLUTIONARY  TALES. 


The  Brigand, 50 

Ralph  Rnnnion, 50 

Seven  Brothers  of  Wyoming,..  25 

The  Rebel  Bride, 25 

The  Flying  Artillerist, 25 

Old  Put, 25 


Wau-nan-gee, 50 

Legends  of  Mexico, 60 

Grace  Dudley:  or,  Arnold  at 

Saratoga, 25 

The  Guerilla  Chief, 75 

The  Quaker  Soldier, 1  50 


EMERSON  BENNETT'S  WORKS. 


The  Border  Rover, 1  50 

Clara  Moreland, 1  50 

Viola;   or  Adventures  in  the 
Far  South-West, 1  50 


Bride  of  the  Wilderness, 1  50 

Ellen  Norbury, i  50 

The  Forged  Will, 1  50 

Kate  Clarendon, ,         ..  1  50 


Above  are  each  in  paper  cover.     Each  book  is  also  published  in  one 
volume,  cloth,  price  $2.00  each. 
The  Heiress  of  Bellefonte,  and 

Walde-Warren, 50 


Pioneer's   Daughter  and  Un- 
known Countess, 50 


The  Two  Brides,  

....       50 

Love  in  a  Cottage......  

50 

....       50 

Year  after  Marriage,  

50 

The  Lady  at  Home,  

50 

50 

T.  S.  ARTHUR'S  WORKS. 

The  Divorced  Wife, 50 

Prido  and  Prudence, 50 

Agnes;  or,  the  Possessed, 50 

Lucy  Sandford, 50 

The  Banker's  Wife, 60 

The  Two  Merchants, 50 

Orphan  Children, 50    Insubordination, 50 

Debtor's  Daughter, 50    Trial  and  Triumph, 50 

Mary  Moreton, 50    The  Iron  Rule, 50 

Six  Nights  with  the  Washingtonians.     With  nine  original  Illustra- 
tions.    By  Cruikshank.     One  volume,  cloth  $2.00;  or  in  paper,. ..$1.50 

Lizzie  Glenn ;  or,  the  Trials  of  a  Seamstress.   Cloth  $2.00  ;  or  paper,  1.50 

CHRISTY  &  WHITE'S  SONG  BOOKS. 

Christy  A  Wood's  Song  Book,     13    Serenader's  Song  Book, 13 

Melodeon  Song  Book, 13    Budwortn's  Songs, 13 

Plantation  Melodies, 13    Christy  and  White's  Complete 

Ethiopian  Song  Book, 13        Ethiopian  Melodies.    Cloth,  1  00 

Books  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  the  Retail  Price,  by 
T,  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


12  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


MRS.  GREY'S  WORKS. 

Cousin  Harry,.. 1  50  |  The  Little  Beauty, 1  60 

Above  are  in  paper  cover,  or  in  one  volume,  cloth,  price  $2.00  each. 


Gipsy's  Daughter, 50 

Old  Dower  House, 50 

Belle  of  the  Family, 50 

Duke  and  Cousin, 50 

The  Little  Wife, 50 

Lena  Cameron, 50 

Sybil  Lennard, 50 


Manoeuvring  Mother 50 

Baronet's  Daughters, 50 

GEORGE  LIPPARL'S  WORKS, 


Young  Prhna  Donna, 50 

Hyacinthe, 25 

Alice  Seymour, 25 

Mary  Seahara, 75 

Passion  and  Principle, 75 

The  Flirt, 75 

Good  Society, 75 

Lion-Hearted, 75 


The  Quaker  City, 1  50 

Paul  Ardenheim, 1  50 

Blanche  of  Brandy  wine, 1  50 

Mysteries  of  Florence, 1  00 

The  Empire  City, 75 

Memoirs  of  a  Preacher, 75 

The  Nazarene, 75 

Washington  and  his  Men, 75 


Washington  and  his  Generals; 
or,  Legends  of  the  American 
Revolution, 1  50 

Legends  of  Mexico, 50 

The  Entranced, 

The  Robbers, 

The  Bank  Director's  Son, 

Ride  with  the  Dead, 


25 
25 
25 
50 


NEW  AND  GOOD  BOOKS. 


Crock  of  Gold.    By  Tupper,...  50 

Twins  and  Heart.    By  Tupper,  50 

Life  of  Bishop  Hughes, 25 

Life  of  General  McClellan, 50 

Life  of  General  Butler, 25 

Life  of  General  Meade, 25 

The  Deformed 25 

Two  Priina  Donnas, 25 

The  Haunted  House, 25 

Tom  Tiddler's  Ground, 25 

The  Mysterious  Marriage, 25 

Jack  Downing's  Letters, 25 

The  Mysteries  of  a  Convent,...  25 

Bell  Brandon, 25 

Rose  Warrington, 25 

The  Iron  Cross, 25 

Charles  Ransford, 25 

Sybil  Grey, 50 

Female  Life  in  New  York, 25 

Agnes  Grey, 25 

Legends  of  Mexico 50 

Eva  St.  Clair 50 

Diary  of  a  Physician 50 

The  Emigrant  Squire, 25 

The  Monk,  by  Lewis 50 

The  Beautiful  French  Girl 25 

The  Mysteries  of  Bedlam, 25 

The  Nobleman's  Daughter 25 

Madison's  Exposition  of  Odd 

Fellowship, 25 


The  Book  of  Ghost  Stories,.... 

The  Admiral's  Daughter.. 

The  Wreck  of  the  Golden  Mary, 
Perils  of  English  Prisoners,.... 

The  American  Joe  Miller, 

Ladies'  Science  of  Etiquette,... 
Gentlemen's  Science  Etiquette, 
Grace  Dudley;  or,  Arnold  at 

Saratoga, 25 

The  Valley  Farm, 25 

Ella  Stratford, 50 

Edgar  Montrose ;  or,  the  Mys- 
terious Penitent, 50 

The  Abbey  of  Innismoyle, 25 

Gliddon's  Ancient  Egypt 25 

Josephine,  by  Grace  Aguilar,..       50 

Philip  in  Search  of  a  Wife, 25 

Father  Tom  and  the  Pope, 25 

The  Oxonians, 50 

The  Roue;  or,  the  Hazards  of 

Women, 25 

Hollick's  Family  Physician,...       25 
Robert  Oaklands  :  or,  the  Out- 
cast Orphan 50 

Abednego,  the  Money  Lender,.       50 

Falkland, 25 

Rifle  Shots, 25 

Jenny  Ambrose, 25 

A  House  to  Let, 25 

The  Two  Apprentices, 25 


Books  sent,  postage  paid,  on  receipt  of  the  Retail  Price,   by 
1    B    Peterson  &  Brothers,   Philadelphia,   Pa. 


TJF»     VOUirt    CL.UI3S    FOR,    1NG«! 


PETERSON'S  MAGAZINE. 

DOUBLE-SIZE  COLORED  STEEL  FASHION  PLATES! 

For  many  years  "  Peterson's  Magazine"  has  had  a  larger  circulation  than 
Wiy  other  monthly  ir.  the  United  States.    In  1SG6  it  will  be  greatly  improved  : 


'Jie  readin 


.      e          e  e. 

ing  matter  will  be  increased,  AND  EACH  NUMBER  WILL  CONTAIN  A  Oounis-SiZB 
ASHION  PLATE,  ELEGANTLY  COLORED,  with  from  four  to  six  figures:  aiakliijj 
<?otcrson"  more  desirable  than  ever!  The  terms  will  remain  two  dollars  a  year, 
with  liberal  deductions  to  clubs.   Containing  nearly  one  thousand  pages  annually, 
trarteen  steel  engravings,  twelve  double-size  fashion  plates,  and  eight  hundred 
wood-cuts,  it  will  bo,  in  I860,  beyond  all  question, 

TO!  GMIAPIST  MAftAftili  ON 


The  novelets  and  tales  are  acknowledged  to  be  the  very  best.  Mart  money 
is  paid  for  original  stories  than  by  any  other  ilagazine  of  the  kind.  In  1866,  in 
addition  to  the  usual  array  of  shorter  stories,  FOUR  COPY-RIGHTED  NOVELETS  WILI 
BE  GIVEN,  viz  : 

THE  SOLDIER'S  ORPHANS,  by  Mrs.  Ann  St.  Stephens. 

THE  STOLEN  BOND,  by  the  Author  of  "The  Second  Life.' 
THE  OLD  MILL  OF  AMOSKEAG,  by  tl.e  Author  of  "Susy  L's  Diary  " 

Mrs.  SHODDY'S  SKELETON,  by  Frank  Lee  Benedict 

In  its  Illustrations  also,  "  Peterson"  is  unrivalled.  The  Publisher  challenge! 
a  comparison  between  its 

SUPERB  MEZZOTINTS  &,  other  STEEL  EXGKAVINGS 
And  those  in  other  Magazines,  and  one  at  least  is  given  in  each  number. 

DOUBLE-SIZE  COLORED  FASHION  PLATES 

Each  number  will  contain  a  double-size  Fashion  plate,  engraved  on  steel 
and  handsomely  colored.  These  plates  will  bo  twice  the  size  of  those  heretofore 
given  :  and  will  excel  anything  of  the  kind  yet  seen.  In  addition,  wood-cuts  of 
the  newest  bonnets,  hats,  caps,  head-dresses,  cloaks,  jackets,  ball  dresses,  walking 
dresses,  house  dresses,  Ac.,  Ac.,  will  appear  in  each  number.  Also,  the  greatest 
variety  »f  children's  dresses.  Also,  a  diagram,  by  aid  of  which  a  cloak,  dress,  or 
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at  a  retail  store,  would  cost  fifty  cents.  These  will  be  kept  up.  Each  number 
will  also  give  patterns  in  Crochet,  Embroidery,  Knitting,  &c.,  ic., 

aSSBSfTg  FOB.  •GASKET,  THS  T&JLET,  &€„  && 

Carefully  tested  receipts  will  appear  monthly,  for  the  Table,  the  Toilet,  the 
Sick  Room,  the  Nursery.  &c.  Also,  hints  on  Horticulture,  Furnishing,  4c. 
These  alone,  at  the  end  of  the  year,  will  be  worth  the  price  of  the  Magazine 
A  PLKCB  OF  NEW  AND  FASHIONABLE  Music  in  each  number. 


1  Copy,  for  one  year.  $2.00 


TERMS-ALWAYS  IN  ADVANCE. 


3  Copies,          "  4.50 

4  "  "  6.00 


6  Copies,  (and  1  to  goiter  np Club.)  $  8.00 


and  1  to  getter  up  Club.)    12  00 
14       "     (and  1  to  getter  up  Club.)    20.00 

A  CHOICE  OF  PKEM1UMS.  Where  a  person  is  entitled  to  an 
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CHAELES  J.  PETERSON, 
No.  306  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

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(WT  BOOK  HIKE  IN  THE  WORLD. 

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No.  306  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia, 

PUBLISH  THE  MOST  SALEABLE  BOOKS  IN  THE  WORLD 

AND  SUPPLY  ALL  BOOKS  AT  VERY  LOW  RATES, 

The  cheapest  place  in  the  world  to  buy  or  send  for  a  stock  of  all 
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Any  person  wanting  any  books  at  all,  in  any  quantity,  from  a  single 
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EVST  BOOKSELLING  AND  PUBLISHING  HOUSE  IN  THE 
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try.  and  will  supply  them  and  sell  them  cheaper  than  any  other  house 
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A     000  082  937    4 


/   1*0 


